Sweet, Darling Harry Potter
by hazel-3017
Summary: Ch 18: It was a skeleton. The body of a dead person was lying next to him, and had been dead long enough to have become a skeleton. "Oh, God!" Harry breathed out fearfully.
1. Ch 1

**A/N: I do not hold the right to any of the original characters of the Harry Potter universe, nor am I making any money from this.**

**Warnings: Non!Magic, AU, Slash, Mpreg, Sexual content.**

* * *

_**Chapter One.**_

The music was pounding.

The beat drumming seductively in his ears. The smell of sweat and sex was heavy in the air, arousing all of the dancers to a state of euphoria.

A state of bliss.

The swaying of hips and grinding of bodies pressing up against each other to the beat of the music, was nothing short of an imitation of animalistic fucking. It was the joining of two or more bodies, a joining where no one needed to think about reality. Where one could forget about who they were for a few precious hours. There on the dance floor of Fantasia, it didn't matter about race, status or if one was gay, straight or bi.

On the dance floor of Fantasia, you were simply just another face in the crowd. Just another body letting go of the outside world, and enjoying the music, enjoying the dance, and enjoying another.

For sweet, darling Harry Potter, it was a feeling he had never felt before.

Never in all his twenty-one years of existence had he ever let go of himself in a club like this, known for its scandalous tales of sex and drugs. No, sweet darling Harry, still a virgin on this day of his twenty-first birthday, would never have come to a club like this, or a club at all for that matter, had it not been for some of his more, questionable friends, as his father had dubbed them.

To honour him on his birthday, his friends had practically held him hostage in his own apartment, dressed him up in an outfit Harry would never have willingly dressed up in himself, seeing as it consisted of two articles of clothing barely concealing anything of Harry's body.

They had then proceeded to drag him into Seamus' car, and had driven the thirty-seven minute drive to Fantasia.

Strangely enough they had not been forced to stand in the seemingly never-ending queue to enter the club, but immediately upon arriving had been granted access to the popular club.

Harry suspected it might have been Dean's doing as the bouncer on duty had looked very smug and slapped Dean's arse, wiggling his eyebrows rather vulgarly at him as they passed the big man. Harry, when asking Neville about it, had just received a wink and been told not to worry about it.

Soon, Harry found himself on the dance floor of after having had several shots of tequila poured down his throat.

He spent most of the time dancing with his three friends, but sometimes the eager crowd would separate them, and Harry found himself dancing alone. He didn't really mind as he had always loved dancing, and wished he had the chance to do it more often.

To let go and let his hips sway to the beat of the music was something Harry rarely did.

He was quite the sight when he first started dancing.

Several pairs of eyes were on his body at all times. They watched as he danced with his friends or alone. Watched as he moved his body sensually, but would dance away just out of reach whenever someone tried to join him. Not even his friends got the chance to touch him as he danced. It continued that way throughout most of the night until _he_ came along.

Draco had noticed Harry a few hours earlier, and had been watching him as he moved on the dance floor. He, like many others, had gotten very aroused and found himself unable to simply just watch anymore. Now, he needed to touch this vixen that had seemingly bewitched him as he danced, unaware of the spell he had cast on the many faces of the crowd.

Harry kept dancing, separated from his friends once more, eyes closed and unaware of the man that making his way over to him.

He never noticed the sea of bodies that parted for the man, feeling the aura surrounding him, screaming power and danger.

Harry's eyes snapped open as he felt a pair of strong arms wrap around him, settling comfortably at his waist as a muscled body pressed up against his back. His green eyes grew large and he stilled for a moment. But then a voice whispered in his ear. "Keep dancing." It was an order, making him shiver slightly in excitement. Harry found himself unable to disobey that voice.

It was low and sexy, demanding respect and attention, and Harry desperately wanted to hear it again. The music changed around them to a slower beat, still seductive in its beat.

Harry's body started moving again, his hands fell on top of the larger ones around his waist and his hips ground hard into the moving body behind him. He smiled smugly when he heard the other man groan in appreciation and felt the hands at his waist tightening slightly. They continued to dance song after song, but stayed in the same position the entire time.

When Harry's arse made a particularly naughty push against the crotch of the other man, that voice, growled in his ear dangerously. "You keep doing that, and I won't be responsible for my actions."

It was a promise with such certainty; it made Harry moan in excitement and need.

"Maybe," Harry gasped out as they kept on dancing. "Maybe that's just what I want."

'God, he sounded like a whore.' Harry thought. He had never felt so wanton before.

"You're playing with fire, sweetheart." The man groaned out and nipped lightly at Harry's earlobe, making him keen in pleasure.

Harry could feel his arousal pressing into his arse, and ground harder into it. The man groaned heavily and responded with letting one of his hand drop from Harry's waist to cover his clothed crotch in stead, while sucking on the spot where shoulder and neck met. "Oh yes!" Harry moaned wantonly. The feeling was heavenly and he wanted more.

He wanted so much more.

"Alright." The man bit out as he felt his control slipping. "We're getting out of here. You're mine for the night." He promised fiercely and turned Harry around in his arms.

He was tall, Harry noted as he started thinking about how very wrong this was. He couldn't simply wander off with this stranger. He didn't even know his name. Besides his friends were around somewhere and he couldn't leave them.

But then Harry's eyes locked with the other man's, smouldering, passionate grey eyes met emerald, smoky green, and all of Harry's previous thoughts and doubts disappeared. All he could think about was those magnificent grey eyes.

Without realising what he was doing, Harry stood on his toes and closed his eyes as he pressed his lips against the other man's. It was his first real kiss, and it seemed like the other man could tell he wasn't very experienced as he immediately took control.

Harry was somewhat of a romantic and had often dreamed of the perfect kiss. 'This has to be it,' he thought as those luscious lips devoured his own. He groaned in irritation and reluctantly opened his eyes when the taller man pulled away.

"What do you say, beautiful, should we go to my place?" Did he really dare do this? Harry wondered as he worried his bottom lip with his teeth. He knew his days as a virgin would disappear if he went with the other man.

The desire and feelings that burned within him was enough of an answer. He could feel his skin positively sizzling with the fire between them, and Harry realised that yes, he wanted to go with the man. Very much so.

He smiled gently up at the other man and nodded his head at him. That was all the other one needed as he instantly gripped Harry's hand and led him through the throng of people still grinding their bodies to the sound of an alluring trance track, blasting from the speakers.

The man led him outside the club, and with a few quick words to one of the many bouncers guarding the club entrance, there was suddenly a car in front of them, and Harry was gently pushed into the back seat with the other man.

A few more quick words with the driver and the car was moving. For Harry it seemed like he was in a daze. He did not register how much time passed from the time of their departure, to the time of the arrival at their destination as that time was spent doing some heavy petting and making out with the gorgeous stranger. How they got from the car to the inside of the man's bedroom was clouded at best in Harry's mind, but then again, all he cared about was the other man.

They made fast work of their clothing, and then they were naked before each other, and Harry was suddenly not so dazed anymore, but more uncertain than ever as he blushed heavily while looking at the magnificent body of the other man. His hair was blond, he noticed now in the dimly lit light. Blond and fashionably styled in its short cut, much unlike Harry's own midnight dark, wavy, long hair.

He had a strong, chiselled face. Intense eyes, a regal nose and square jaw. He was gorgeous in his masculine beauty.

His body was much the same. Broad shoulders, strong arms, muscled chest and powerful legs, made out this man, making Harry liken him to that of a Greek god.

He was simply stunning, all of him.

Like Michelangelo's David.

Physically perfect in every way.

Harry was brought out of his staring when the man moved closer to him. "If you are quite done staring at me, maybe we could get to the touching part." He said amused, and raised his hands, letting them simply hover over Harry's shoulders.

"Will you let me touch you?" the man questioned, the desire in his voice obvious.

Harry may be a virgin, but he was not ignorant about sex. He was the youngest of five children, all of them boys. He'd been given _the talk_. Repeatedly. Harry knew _exactly _what would happen if he agreed to this.

Unable to voice his words, he nodded his consent instead.

* * *

Harry was panting and breathing harshly when he laid his head on his lover's chest. "That was amazing." Harry breathed, looking for all the world like a kitten who got the canary.

The man lifted a hand to Harry's long hair and gently stroked through it, grinning smugly. "I quite agree with you. That was amazing." He said, not entirely able to keep the smugness from his voice.

After a longer while of snuggling, Draco suggested they take a shower to clean themselves, and where round two and three occurred before the couple ended back in the bed. They fell asleep in each other's arms, sated and pleased with the way the night had ended.

When Harry woke the next morning, reality came crashing down. As he took in his surroundings with confusion and noted the pair of strong arms holding him, a chest pressed up against his back, the memories from the previous night rushed into his mind.

'Oh God,' he thought. Oh God, oh God, oh God! He had bedded a complete stranger on the night of his birthday. Even worse, he had lost his virginity to said stranger.

Desperate to get out of the room, Harry gently eased out of the protective hold around him.

A one-night stand.

He had lost his virginity in a one-night stand.

Without realising it, the tears came falling as he searched the room for his clothes.

He was afraid if he didn't get out soon, the other man would wake and who knew how he'd react. Harry had no idea what so ever, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to deal with rejection from this man who had made so many wonderful feelings come to life inside of him.

As he had been promised earlier, Harry knew that he would never forget that night or the man who had been so gentle with him.

But the thought of being just another face from a sea of bodies from a club like Fantasia hurt more than it should even though he didn't even know the man.

Successfully having located his clothes, Harry dressed quickly and walked out of the bedroom without a second glance. The room that greeted Harry next was a luxurious living room and kitchen with large windows and a view of the London Tower Bridge.

With a start, Harry realised he was in a hotel room, or rather suite, considering the size of the room. He groaned as he realised that he would have to walk through a high-class establishment looking like a _hooker_ with his current clothes.

'Great, just great!' He thought to himself dejectedly. Out of options and no other choice, Harry walked with his head held high out of the suite, and out of the hotel, ignoring the looks he received as best as he could.

He had taken a taxi to his apartment and had gotten out of the skimpy outfit and into his warm comfortable pyjamas when a thought suddenly occurred to him.

Like a ton of bricks crumbling to the ground, so did sweet darling Harry Potter, as he recalled;

They hadn't used protection.

**A/N:**

**Carriers are males capable of becoming pregnant and carrying a child inside their womb, and later give birth through their anal canal. Because I am the author and this is all fiction, I have decided that Carriers have been around as long as there have been records of human activity because at one point evolution feared the extinction of either sex.**

**Though they have never taken up larger parts of the population, Carriers are still well known. It is estimated that 5 out of 1000 males is likely to be a Carrier. Carriers look the same like any other male, their only common trait is that they have slightly softer curves then none Carrier males. Other then that, their looks are based purely on genetics and has nothing to do with their Carrier status.**


	2. Ch 2

_**Chapter Two.**_

The insistent sound of his mobile vibrating at max capacity was enough to annoy a man on his day off. The intense brightness of the persistence, shining light from the morning sun was down right irritating. However, it was the realisation of waking up alone, his lover from the previous night seemingly having been gone for hours, that really pissed Draco Malfoy off.

The fact that he had a morning erection from the rather lovely dreams he'd just been having, didn't help either. It was with an aggravated move that he eventually reached out for his still vibrating phone. "What the fuck do you want?" he snarled viciously, a rough hand ruffling through his blond locks in frustration as he stared down at his 'problem'. Reminded of the fact that he was alone and there was no one to take care of him in his predicament.

Draco swore to himself that if it was his best friend calling about his 'scores' from last night, Draco would kill him, and he wouldn't hesitate either. His best friend, Blaise Zabini, had stood by Draco's side through the good, the bad, and the ugly.

However, the man could be rather vulgar at times. It was a miracle they worked so well together, or even got along at all, what with all their differences.

Were Draco would be calm and stoic; Blaise would be loud and obnoxious. Were Draco had always gotten top marks throughout his entire school career; Blaise had barely managed to get by. Were Draco was light in hair and skin, Blaise was the true essential figure of tall, dark and handsome.

The list of their differences could go on and on, but the truth was that the few similarities they shared, made them into an unbeatable team and best friends for life. The first of their few shared resemblances was the fact that they were both well-known man whores, and had been known to keep score during their years of high school and college. Something Blaise still did, much to Draco's disgust.

They understood each other like no one else did.

They both came from rich families were one was expected to keep up an acceptable image, and were the pressure to succeed was enormous. They had both been enrolled in the most prestigious schools in Britain, from kindergarden through college. They were taught to be the best, and taught that failure was unacceptable.

No matter what, failure was not an option.

For a while they had both lived in fear of disappointment before they had broken free one after the other.

Blaise had been the first to go.

It had been a sunny day during his own father's fiftieth birthday party, among family, friends and business associates when Blaise had finally cracked. The pressure from his father had gotten to the point were Blaise just couldn't take it anymore and he snapped. He spent the better part of an hour telling his father off, and ending his tirade by disowning himself from his family.

It was only through Draco's support and insistence that Blaise kept his name, and after some sweet-talking went into business with Draco. From then on they had formed an unbreakable bond. Blaise had been right by his side when Draco himself broke away from his own father's iron hold.

If Draco were a lesser man, he would have snickered at the sentimental thoughts he was having.

"Draco." The emotionless tone of the speaking voice immediately told him it was his father.

Shit.

He really didn't want to speak with his stone-like father, right now.

"Father." Draco answered in a flat voice, all evidence of his frustration completely masked by his desire to see his father drop dead.

Draco would have giggled at the image, if it were something Malfoy's did. But as it was, giggling was not becoming of a Malfoy, so he didn't.

"Is this how you greet all your calls? Or just your loving father?" the man questioned, voice still void of feelings.

If it wasn't not for the fact that Malfoy's did not snort as well, Draco would have done so right then. His father, loving? Draco could have been ruler of both heaven and hell, and all in between, and his father would only nod his head in slight recognition.

Nothing Draco did would ever be good enough for Lucius Malfoy, even though Draco had more power and more money than his father at this point. Lucius would never love his son. He would never look at Draco as more than someone to carry on the Malfoy name and traditions.

No, Draco was quite sure that his father did not know the meaning of the word love. Be it parental love, or romantic.

Lucius Malfoy did not love.

Period.

"What do you want, father?" Draco questioned, weary as to why his bastard of a father would willingly make contact with him, on a Sunday no less.

"You do of course recall the family dinner this evening, do you not? You promised your mother, after all." Draco could practically hear the sneering smirk in Lucius' voice.

"Fuck." He sighed low enough for his father not to hear, and ran a hand through his hair again. A habit he'd picked up during his years at college. He couldn't blow his mother off, he owed her that much.

Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, had been her only child's love and support through his childhood years.

When Draco had fought so desperately to become like his beloved father, Narcissa had gently and slowly, with the patience of a true saint, steered her precious child in different directions. She urged him to think for himself, to not let his father control him.

His mother was a far cry from being mother of the year, or even mother of any year. She, like so many others from their family could be a real bitch, and it was advised not to toy with her. She too had done things to ensure her survival throughout the years.

But Narcissa had never kept any secrets from Draco, and had always told him of her thoughts and fears, of the unforgivable deeds she had done. She had told him of her regrets and doubts, though most of it should never have reached the ears of a little boy.

Draco had often been astounded and shocked at the revelation of his mother's confessions. Nevertheless, he had always appreciated her honesty. He knew that his mother truly did love her son, and wanted only the best for him

"No, of course I did not forget." Draco said, gritting his teeth in annoyance. As if he'd ever forget. It was unbecoming of a Malfoy to forget trivial things, such as a simple dinner appointment. It was one of the many things a Malfoy simply just didn't do.

"It is still at seven, then?" It was more of a statement then a question, and Lucius confirmed before wishing his son a lovely day, and disconneced their call.

'A lovely day, indeed. More like burn in hell, father.' Draco thought, cursing the Gods above for the impending inconvenience.

Why the hell did he have to end up in a family like his? Draco wondered, but thanked his lucky star as he remembered Severus would be there for the family dinner. The only one who had provided Draco with any kind of stability throughout his childhood, and later teens, his godfather, Severus Snape.

Severus had once been Lucius' close friend; one might even have called them best friends. But as time passed by, their differences became clearer and clearer. Soon the only reason they would even speak with one another was because of their joint connection to Draco, one as his father, the other as his godfather. But other than through Draco, they no longer interacted.

Lucius was too disgusted with Severus' lack of ambition for power and money, while Severus was too disgusted with Lucius' desperate need to become more powerful. Severus was by no means a very nice man. But he wasn't cruel and twisted like Lucius.

Severus knew the difference between right and wrong, even though Lucius had forgotten long ago. Draco was certain that had it not been for Severus' strong influence on him during his teens, he would have had a far greater risk of ending up like his God forsaken father.

Severus had been his chemistry teacher in the prestigious Hogwarts High School, and had early on seen the emotionless man Draco was in high danger of becoming. Draco thanked nearly every day for Severus Snape, and that he had managed to beat some common sense through Draco's then rather thick scull.

Severus, along with his mother had saved him from becoming like the original Malfoys. In stead, they had given him the chance to make his own version of what a Malfoy should be. Despite the bad history in the Malfoy line, Draco was proud of his name, and would make sure that his descendants would be proud of the Malfoy name as well, even a hundred years later.

Right now the whole Malfoy family was nothing but sadistic, stuck up, money grabbing vultures that would stab their own mothers in their sleep, if they had something to gain from it.

Lucius had stabbed his own mother in her sleep, Draco remembered with a slight chill.

His grandmother had been the Malfoy Matriarch, a lonely widow and filthy rich. Being the Malfoy that she was, she was greedy,and refused to share her fortune with the rest of the family.

That was when the plotting had started.

They were three cousins who got together and plotted against her, one of them her own son. One of the cousins, Lucille, was a well-known doctor, and paid a surprise visit to her aunt one day. During her visit, Lucille noticed her aunt's fragile state, and spoke of her concerns to Marianna, the Malfoy widow.

Though, Marianna had once been a very intelligent young woman, she was no longer young, and her years as a Malfoy had made her paranoid. She took heed of her niece's words and started fretting about her supposedly poor health.

It was during one of these moment of her fretting, that she was paid a second surprise visit. It was from one of her nephews, the lawyer in the family, Lucifer Malfoy. They spent an hour of drinking tea and making small talk before Lucifer confronted her with his concerns towards Marianna.

"You don't look so good. What is troubling you?" he had questioned, and Marianna had fallen for it, hook line and sinker.

She told him of her worries about her health, told him that his own cousin had been visiting her and noticed her ailing body. From there, it was fairly easy for Lucifer to convince Marianna, that maybe it was time to write the will.

Marianna did. She wrote her will along with her nephew, Lucifer, and her personal butler as a witness.

With the will done, Lucifer having steered Marianna in all the right directions, it was time for the final act. It was two weeks after the will had been written when Lucius Malfoy snuck into the Malfoy Manor like a common thief in the dark. He was dressed all in black, a single dagger hidden inside the folds of his clothes.

When he finally, very quietly entered through the door to his mother's private suite, he did not hesitate. He walked with a purpose to the bed with his sleeping mother, and without second thought, plunged the dagger as deep as it would go through her heart. She had no time to make any sounds, and was dead within seconds.

She died staring into the eyes of her only child.

After Lucius was certain his mother was truly gone, Lucius made sure the blood from the stab wound was all gone, and redressed his dead mother, seeing as her night gown was soaked in blood.

Having redressed her, Lucius left her lifeless form in her bed and gathered all the evidence, and left. The next morning the butler found her dead after failing to wake her by calling her name and knocking on her bedroom door. He had of course immediately called the doctor of the family, Lucille Malfoy. After doing an examination, Lucille concluded that her aunt's heart had failed during the night.

From that point, things progressed along nicely.

Marianna was dressed by Lucille in one of her favourite dresses, and placed in a coffin by a funeral team, hired weeks before her death. The funeral was held the next day, with only close family in attendance.

It was a shock to the rest of England when they found out that Marianna Malfoy was dead, and the funeral had all ready been held.

The Malfoy was a very profiled family in Great Britain, and there were several people disappointed about not having been invited to the funeral. The Malfoy's sent out a quick statement to the press however, claiming they were overcome with grief by the death of their matriarch, and wanted the funeral over with quickly. People understood, of course, but they continued to talk about the sudden death of Lady Malfoy.

There were never any speculations of foul play. The three cousins walked away without ever having been suspects. Funnily enough, both Lucille and Lucifer had both passed away since then, and never had any children. Their fortunes went to Lucius Malfoy upon their deaths. Draco suspected that their deaths were his father's doing, but could not yet prove this.

The only reason he knew the truth about Marianna, his grandmother's death, was because Lucius had not always been the cold, mechanical man he was today. No, back then, before greed and power had corrupted; the man had kept a journal.

A journal Draco coincidentally stumbled upon during his childhood. When he first found it, it had been so exciting. A book containing his father's memories.

Oh, how he had worshipped his father back then. Draco had been much too young to really understand anything of what was written in the journal, but had kept it with him none the less.

To him, it was a treasure, something that had been important to his father, so Draco hid it. It was just for fun at first. He had meant to give it back to Lucius, but then the man had noticed it was gone and had unleashed his fury upon all inhabitants of the new Malfoy Manor.

He was furious that his personal journal was gone, and demanded that the one responsible for its disappearance come forth at once. Draco had never seen that side of his father, and was too terrified to give the journal back.

So he kept the secret locked tightly within his eight-year-old mind.

Eventually, Draco forgot about the whole incident and the journal. He never forgot about the terror he had felt in his father's fury.

Finally, when Draco first moved out of the house to attend college, and then moved into his own place, he rediscovered the journal.

By now he was old enough to understand the contents of the journal, and was horrified by the actions of his father and his father's cousins. Draco Malfoy was now the only other person who knew the truth about the death of Marianna Malfoy.

Not knowing what else to do, Draco had taken the journal with him, and had since kept it hidden in one of his many bank accounts.

As a child, Draco had idolised his father. Had practically worshipped him.

Lucius had sucked up the love and awe his son felt for him, like a sponge. He had moulded Draco to be the perfect Malfoy. To be a being without feelings, to be able to make necessary decisions to survive, even if it meant the demise of someone else.

As long as the Malfoy's survived, it was okay in Lucius' mind.

Draco had let his father mould him to his will. He was his father after all, and Draco did love him. But the journal had changed everything. Draco had seen the true face of his father and eventually managed to break away from his father's hold.

Too bad that by then it was all ready too late. Draco was well on his way to become just like his father. A man, who cared only of his own needs. To this day, Draco was still much like his father. He had done things, to ensure his own survival and success in the world.

Draco had still broken free from his father. He was more human then Lucius could ever be. Would ever be. He had friends that mattered to him, and he had his mother.

Lucius was alone.

His wife stayed with him because he was all she knew and because she was forced to stay because of their wedding contract. The few friends Lucius had as a young man, had long since ceased speaking with him. Now all Lucius Malfoy had was his money and his position in the ministry. Draco growled in disgust at the thought of his father.

He hated Lucius Malfoy with a passion.

When the time came, Draco would bring him down.

He would get his mother out of his father's hold if it were the last thing he did. He just needed to bid his time.

Lucius Malfoy was still a powerful man inside the British Isles, and Draco was still young, only twenty-five years of age. He would have to wait a while longer before his word meant more then his father's, despite the overwhelming evidence Draco had on the man.

Looking at his Rolex wristwatch, Draco noticed he had spent the better part of an hour, thinking about his father.

Now there was an hour he'd never get back.

He'd rather think about the beautiful man he's spent the previous night with.

It irritated him beyond belief that his bed partner had left without as much as a single word.

The green-eyed little minx he'd been with, the beautiful creature he didn't even know the name off, had affected him far more then he'd like to admit. For some reason unknown to him, Draco found himself wanting to know all there was to know about the sexy vixen, especially his name.

"Dammit!" Draco sighed in irritation. Why the fuck did the other man take off, anyway?

Draco didn't have a clue.

Never before had any of Draco's lovers willingly left his bed, and would normally have to be told to get the hell out.

Why would they.

He was Draco Malfoy, president and founder of Malfoy Inc. He was the biggest thing to hit the world of business in close to a hundred years. He was considered a business genius by his peers and the public, and was loved and adored by all.

To his employees, he was a fearless leader who expected the best from all those he worked with. To fail at anything was unacceptable for Draco Malfoy, and you wouldn't get a second chance. If his employees made a mistake of any kind, they would be replaced before they could even get the chance to clear out their desks.

To the public and his adoring fans, he was a God worth worshipping, never to be crossed. They coveted him like they their need for nutrition, and during his four years in the eyes of the public, there had all ready been several attempts at his life, as well as several attempts by various women and carriers to trap him in marriage.

Though, he did not know or understand why the women insistent on trying to make him fall for them, or even sleep with them, seeing as he was gay, a known public fact. Draco's record of lovers was long and varied, and consisted only of men, something his father heavily disliked.

His lovers never lasted long, a week at the most. Even that was a doubtful stretch. Despite the many people who tried to get him to settle down with kids and marriage, all of Draco's time was currently being spent focusing on his company.

He had made a still growing empire from scratch, and had taken only four years to do so. Draco had built, what was now his life, with just an idea.

Draco had taken that idea and he had created a kingdom, with his own two hands and with the support of those who mattered to him.

He was proud of what he had created, and he was damned proud of who he was.

He was Draco Malfoy, a household name around the world, and a man everyone wanted a piece of. Right now, Draco was one of the most powerful men in existence, and always, no matter what, got what he wanted.

As of now, Draco wanted the name of the unknown beauty that had unknowingly managed to make an impression on the usually stoic Draco Malfoy.

Gathering his phone in his hand, Draco pressed a button and placed the phone to his ear. He was instantly connected to the mobile of his driver from last night.

"I want to know everything there is to know about the man from last night." He ordered, voice steely cold. The same voice he usually used when he spoke to his employees.

The driver didn't answer, instantly disconnected the call and got to work, knowing things would not be good for him should he displease his boss. He would do everything in his powers to make sure he got the necessary information.

If he had to lie, cheat, steal or beat the crap out of a few people, so be it.

Having put his phone away, Draco made his way towards the bathroom, deciding to take a much needed shower to ease his tense muscles and to take care of his still throbbing erection.

The spray of the hot water felt good against his skin, and Draco moaned aloud as he smeared himself in with a luxurious bar of soap, hands traveling slowly over his aching muscles. Draco's eyes closed briefly in pleasure. He could all ready feel himself loosen up.

He closed his, and behind his closed lids he could see his gorgeous mystery lover. In his mind, Draco saw him exactly like he remembered him from before. Tan skin glowing, black hair cascading down his shoulders, covering him in silky black. Green eyes, wide with passion and want, and a body designed for pleasure.

Draco's memory shifted into a fantasy. He could see his lover kneeling on the space before him, looking up at him with innocent, green eyes, black hair wet and plastered to his back.

He came.

Draco opened his eyes. Grey eyes gleaming as the water kept spraying his now relaxed body, and washed the evidence of his release away.

"I promise you, beautiful," he spoke gently, eyes glinting with hunger and desire as he spoke to the empty air. "I don't care how long it takes. I will find you!"


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Three**_

It was mocking him.

It looked completely innocent and harmless, but it was mocking him.

Harry was sure of it.

There was just no way that, that thing, could be innocent; not when it was lying on top of his toilet seat like that. It was practically screaming at him to come look. Daring him to find out the result. It was an age-old question, and Harry was certainly not the first one in this situation, wondering if his life would change.

To be pregnant, or not to be pregnant, that is the burning question.

The home pregnancy test in front of him had the answer.

It had long since passed two minutes, the time required to wait after peeing on that stupid, stupid stick that Harry was positive was mocking him.

It had been twelve days since his random tryst with the handsome stranger from Fantasia, and Harry had finally gathered up enough courage to buy a pregnancy test from a drug store down the street from his apartment.

Twelve days of pure agony, where Harry had debated with himself countless times whether or not he should confide in anyone about his 'maybe pregnancy.'

Twelve days of where most of his time had been spent thinking about babies and family life and whether he was ready to be a parent at all. Twelve days had past, and Harry had gotten used to the idea that he might be having a baby, and now he was too scared to look at the stupid, stupid pregnancy test, he was sure was mocking him.

'I can't do this,' Harry thought.

He was too terrified to handle this alone.

He needed backup, and he needed it now.

Harry put his head in his hands, and closed his eyes in concentration from where he was seated on his bathroom floor, clad only in his pyjamas. He mentally went through his entire list of friends and family and singled out the ones who would be the best choice of confidant for this kind of thing without freaking out.

Despite Harry's rather long list of friends and family, there was only one who fit right into his bill of criteria.

Scrambling to his legs, Harry practically ran out of his bathroom, careful not to look at the mocking _thing_ on the toilet seat, and headed for his phone.

He skimmed through his contacts and quickly found the number he was looking for.

He dialled the number and waited impatiently for the calling-signal to end. "Hello, this is Luna speaking." Harry sighed in pure relief at the sound of his friend's voice.

"Luna! I need you to come to my apartment, as fast as you..."

"I'm sorry, but I can't hear you." Her dreamy voice cut him of before he even finished his sentence.

"Luna, it's Harry, and I need you to..." He tried again.

"You really need to speak louder, can't hear a thing you say." Once again, Luna cut him off, and Harry took a few deep breaths to calm himself.

"Can you hear me now?" he asked, speaking louder into the phone.

There was a slight pause before she spoke again. "No, I still cannot hear you. But that is because I'm not hear right now. Please leave a message after the beep, and if I remember to check my voicemail, I'll get back to you later."

The ensuing beep was followed by total silence.

A few minutes passed where Harry did nothing but stare, gob smacked, at his phone in complete amazement. Then he screamed in frustration and anger, and flung his phone as hard as he could against the wall. "Fuck it!" Harry breathed, smoke practically seeping out of his nose and ears.

"Stupid phone didn't even break." He muttered dejectedly, gathering his abused phone and inspecting it in his hands.

Stupid Luna!

Where was she, anyway?

Harry bravely ventured back into the bathroom and once again seated himself on the tiled floor. He resigned himself to stare at the stupid, stupid stick in stead, and sighed in agonised misery as it glared back at him.

Mockingly.

He sat on the floor staring at the stick for a long while, thinking about the life altering changes a simple pregnancy test brought along. The waiting was torture, but he couldn't bring himself to look at the result.

Instead, he spent his time freaking out.

Still seated on his bathroom floor, all sorts of different scenarios ran through his head.

Images of babies hurting themselves, images of Harry somehow hurting babies, and images of other ways a baby could get hurt kept running through his mind. What was he going to do? He needed to know if his life as he knew it was over or not.

No matter how much he tried, he just couldn't check for himself. Harry was just about to start wailing, ironically like a baby, from all the stress he was going through when salvation came.

The sound of someone knocking on his front door.

Harry quickly stood up and checked himself in the mirror.

Having made sure his appearance was at least acceptable, he went to open the door.

"Okay, Okay, I'm coming already," he answered at the persistent knocking on the door.

"Luna?" He said in disbelief as he opened the door, staring at his good friend. The girl looked at him behind her large sunglasses, dressed in a long coat despite the glaring, hot sun outside.

She gave him a large smile and pushed passed him, walking comfortably into his apartment.

"I was just on a date with Oscar. We were at the zoo watching the llamas mate when I suddenly got the feeling that you needed to speak with me." She announced as she removed her long coat, only to reveal what his father would have classified as 'slutty' clothes.

She was wearing a see-through orange sleeveless top, with nothing underneath and a thigh length purple skirt. The blue several-inch high heals she wore made Harry wonder how the hell she managed to keep her balance. "Who the hell is Oscar, and why were you watching llamas mate?" Harry questioned out loud, before shaking his head.

"No. Never mind. I don't want to know," he said, knowing he wouldn't understand anyway.

Luna had always been the exceptionally weird one out of all his friends. It wasn't the first time she had come over unannounced, claiming she suddenly knew that Harry needed her for something or another. Harry thought it to be extremely disturbing, despite the fact that every time it happened, he really did need her for something. Now, Luna only smiled and followed him as he walked back to the bathroom.

"So what did you need me for?" she wondered, tilting her head to the side, her braided blonde hair dangling from side to side. Harry looked at her with his big green eyes, and his lips jutted out a bit, like he was about to cry.

"Luna," he said very quietly. "Luna, I did something I normally never would have done," he confided in her, glad to finally have someone to talk to about it.

"So what you'd do?" Luna questioned, completely unconcerned at Harry's serious tone.

He bowed his head, not able to look at her, still embarrassed about what he'd done. "I had a one-night stand," Harry whispered.

There was a pause, and Harry was sure she hadn't heard him, but then she suddenly spoke.

"Congratulations on losing your virginity!" she said in her usual cheery, dreamy voice. Harry stared at her, amazed. That wasn't exactly the reaction he was expecting, but then again this was Luna, so Harry wasn't too surprised.

She smiled at him widely, and Harry was somewhat comforted by her nonchalance. "So what did you need me here for?" she questioned again, staring at him, her misty eyes making Harry feel like she could see into his very soul.

"We didn't use protection." Harry confessed to her.

Silence.

"So there is a chance I might be pregnant."

More silence.

"I already took a home pregnancy test, but I can't bring myself to look at it."

Even more silence.

"Luna, I need you to look at the test and tell me if I'm pregnant or not," Harry spoke fast and loud, exasperated by her lack of response and the unnerving silence.

"Why didn't you just say that?" Luna questioned in a 'you're silly' tone of voice. "Where is it, then?"

Harry pointed at the stick that was lying innocently on top of the toilet seat, still mocking him. Luna glanced at it, then marched over to the toilet as if there was nothing to worry about and grabbed the pregnancy test.

Harry watched in horror as everything suddenly happened in slow motion. "Oh my god! I'm pregnant, aren't I?" Harry exclaimed before Luna got the chance to say anything.

"I'm pregnant." He said in disbelief. He looked at her desperately. "What am I going to do, Luna?" He asked her, and continued his rant before she could answer. "I'm not ready for a baby; I'm only twenty-one years old!" Harry was pacing back and forth, viciously biting his fingernails.

"I've suspected I might have been pregnant for twelve days now, but I never knew for sure. I don't even know if I want a baby at all!" Harry confided. He stopped up short, and spun around to look at his silent friend. "What am I going to do, Luna?"

She looked at him, and then glanced back at the pregnancy test. "You don't have to do anything." She told him with certainty. Harry cocked his head to the side, momentarily confused.

"What do you mean?" He asked her.

"You're not pregnant, Harry." She said, her smile absent for once.

"The test was negative."

Harry stared at her, unblinking for several minutes as Luna stared right back. They didn't speak at all, just stood there, staring at one another.

"I'm not pregnant." Harry said slowly, as if he unable to process this information.

"Well, that's good right?" He asked, desperately needing Luna to assure him, that everything was okay.

"Well you said it yourself, right? You weren't ready for a kid," Luna spoke, looking at him pointedly. Harry nodded his head madly in agreement.

"Yeah, it's a good thing," he said, trying with all his might to keep the tears from running down his face. "No, you're right. This is a good thing; I'm not ready for a child. It's a lot of responsibility, you know." Harry sunk down to the floor, talking more to himself then Luna.

"It's just that, it's been twelve days, and I was so certain I was pregnant. I kind off got used to the idea."

He was sobbing now, unable to keep the tears from falling. Luna didn't say anything, but got down on the floor with him and wrapped her arms around Harry's shaking body. He leaned into the warmth of her embrace and cried even harder.

"How come losing something I never really had, hurt so much?" He asked her, his eyes wet with tears.

"It hurts so much, Luna."

Luna smiled gently at the heartbroken man in front of her and held him tighter to her. "Well, I guess at least now you know how you feel about the baby." She told him, and Harry only nodded his head in agreement through his cries, not fully comprehending her words.

"Let me be the first to congratulate you then. You're pregnant!" Luna grinned at him.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, staring at her with bewildered red, puffy eyes. "You just said the test was negative, that I'm not having a baby."

Luna laughed a little and regained her usual dreamy look. "Yeah, about that. I lied," She said simply, rising to her feet.

"The test was positive."

Harry continued to stare at her. "You lied?" He asked, his tears stopping, and he too got to his feet. "You lied to me?" It finally sunk into his mind that his close friends had lied to him, and he growled at her angrily. "How could you lie about something like this?" He questioned in disbelief.

"Well you weren't sure what you thought about having a baby. Now you do." Luna said, unconcerned at Harry's anger, which was directed at her full force.

A baby.

He was having a baby.

He laughed in delight and the tears started falling again, this time in joy. "I'm pregnant!" he squealed in wonder through his tears, his smile wide on his face. Luna laughed with him, and hugged her friend tight.

"Congratulations!" she said. They spent a while longer just hugging and delighting in Harry's baby.

It wasn't until Luna asked _the question_ that Harry finally sobered up. "So who's the baby's father?"

Harry's world went cold at her questioning words. He was having a baby with a man he knew absolutely nothing about.

His father would not approve.

Harry groaned at the thought of his father and the rest of his family. They would kill him, for sure.

"Luna." He groaned out in his despair.

"It was a one-night stand. I don't know his name. I high-tailed out of the room before he ever woke up," Harry explained to his friend. Luna's misty eyes cleared slightly at Harry's confession, and she narrowed her eyes at him in slight shock.

"You slept with a stranger? Your father isn't going to like that." She spoke matter-of-factly.

Harry groaned again. Why did things like this happen to him?

"I know, I know! He's going to blow a gasket! This is way worse than the time Eric got drunk in college and got married for forty-eight hours before the marriage was annulled. That was like seven years ago, and he still reminds Eric of it every chance he gets," Harry told her, thinking about his oldest brother.

Eric Arthur Potter was the oldest child of James and Lily Potter, nine minutes older than his fraternal twin, William Shakespeare Potter. Both children had been named after Lily's favourite authors. It was agreed upon before the twins were born that Lily would get to name their first child, and that James could name the second one if they ever had more children.

James found it in the best interest of his health to just go along with everything Lily wanted as she had turned slightly violent further into her pregnancy. William had come as a surprise to them, but seeing as he was part of her first pregnancy, Lily thought it only fair that she got to name him as well.

James was forced with the choice of sleeping on the couch for a year, or agreeing to Lily's terms. Obviously he chose wisely, and that was how Eric Arthur and William Shakespeare got their names. They were named after Eric Arthur Blair (also known as George Orwell) and William Shakespeare, respectively.

Coincidentally, Lily's next pregnancy turned out to be twins as well. Identical twins Jack Nicholas Potter and George Lucas Potter came into the world two years after their older twin brothers. James decided to name them after his favourite actor and his favourite film-director.

Jack Nicholas got his name from Jack Nicholson who became James' hero after 'One flew over the Cuckoo's nest.' George Lucas Potter was named after the creator of the Star Wars films, George Lucas. Harry's parents hadn't really been planning on having another child when they found out about Lily's third pregnancy.

Harry had been a pleasant surprise for them as well as a relief when they were told there was no way there was more than one baby this time. His parents decided to name him together, and after much discussion back and forth finally settled on a name. Their fifth child was to be named Harry James Potter, affectionately named after his grandfather Harold on his mother's side, and his own father, James.

Harry was the baby of the family, and James' pride and joy.

He was their sweet, darling Harry.

"Ah, man! Dad is going to kill me!" Harry said, and Luna nodded her head knowingly. She was very well familiar with Mr Potter's and his four sons' over protectiveness when it came to the youngest of the family. Luna was a year younger then Harry, but had grown up with him, and could very well remember the first time she had met both sets of Potter twins.

She had been seven, and just moved into the same street as the Potters. She and Harry quickly became friends, and when Harry had brought her home one day, she had been ambushed by the older Potter brothers, promising her pain and death if she ever did anything to hurt Harry.

It was pretty impressive for two twelve-year olds and two fourteen-year olds.

But they had made good on their promise of hurt after her and Harry's first fight. The fight had been about something silly she couldn't even remember, and the only reason she remembered they had fought in the first place, was because the day after the fight, all of Luna's favourite dolls had suspiciously disappeared.

She never saw her dolls again.

"You're going to have to tell them, though," she told him as she twirled randomly around the room, making Harry dizzy from where he was sitting on his living room couch. They had moved to the living room, and Harry was now draped across his couch comfortably.

"I know. It's not like I'm going to be able to hide this. I'm gonna get fat soon," Harry said with a sigh, not really upset that his stomach would eventually grow big, but wishing there was some way he wouldn't need to tell his family about the baby.

Not that he didn't love his family.

He did.

Very much so, in fact. But they could be a tad overbearing at times.

Sometimes, his mother was the only sane person in the Potter household.

Though, all of the children had long since moved out of their family home, the Potter kids could often be found at their parents house, happily reaping the benefits of having a loving mother dote on them.

But the times his mother got her "quirks" and obsessed about something or another, Harry could always count on his honorary uncle to bring some calmness and rationality to the house.

Remus Lupin was one of James' two best friends. He had known James ever since they met at Hogwarts High School; the prestigious school were only the rich and famous got accepted. Remus, like Lily, had not been rich, nor had he been famous, but they had both been accepted on a a rare scholarship on account of their bright minds.

James had already been best friends with his childhood friend, Sirius Black, when he met Remus. But it didn't take long before the three of them were as thick as thieves. They terrorised the students and professors of Hogwarts with their many pranks along with a fourth friend, Peter Pettigrew.

Sirius was now Harry's godfather, and Harry loved both him and Remus to death, but he had no idea what happened to Peter.

For some odd reason, everyone in his family refused to talk about the man, which was weird, because Harry knew his father had been friends with Peter up until right after Harry's first birthday.

Harry didn't know much about the man, and only knew about him at all because of a picture he found once from his father's Hogwarts days.

"I know," Luna giggled, happily. "You're gonna be huge!"

Harry smiled at her words, already looking forward to it.

"You know, I always thought Seamus would be the first one to have a kid," Luna said suddenly, breaking Harry out of his thoughts.

"Seamus?" Harry asked incredulously. "Seamus hasn't been in a steady relationship for, well, ever," Harry declared. "He's the last one I'd ever expect settle down with kids."

Luna stopped her twirling, and fell noisily to the carpet-covered floor. "Well I now that silly," she said, swaying from side to side, most likely dizzier then Harry. "But he's such a slut; I'm surprised he hasn't knocked someone up by now." She grinned dazedly at him, her eyes not completely present.

"Luna!" Harry gasped out, shocked she would say something like that about their mutual friend.

It was completely true. Seamus Finnigan was a slut. There was no other way to describe Seamus' way of life. His life policy was the affectionately used, "love em' and leave em'."

His policy was shared by Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom, Seamus' two best friends. They were the very same Dean, Seamus and Neville who kidnapped Harry on his birthday. Harry grumbled as he thought about them.

In his mind, it was partially their fault that Harry had gotten drunk enough to follow a stranger home.

He couldn't find it in himself to be particularly angry with them, though. Without them, he would never have ended up pregnant, Harry realised. He stroked his flat stomach lovingly and smiled gently down at it. It was amazing how much he'd been freaking out about his pregnancy earlier, and now he was so calm about it. So happy, even though he had only known for a couple of hours.

"Actually, it's somewhat Seamus' fault that I'm pregnant," Harry told Luna. She looked up interestedly, waiting for him to elaborate. "It was my birthday nearly two weeks ago, and Seamus, Dean and Neville managed to lure themselves into my apartment and then they whisked me away to Fantasia. They said twenty-one is a special number, and I needed to get drunk," he explained as Luna giggled at him.

"What?" Harry questioned absently, not bothering to look at his friend, now sprawled out across his floor.

"It's just that you always say we shouldn't drink so much when we're all together," she said, legs raised up in the air, making a cycling motion with her feet while thinking of their joint friends. "You always say we end up doing stupid things, and the one time you get drunk, you get yourself knocked up."

She kept giggling and Harry couldn't help but join in, his slight form shaking with laughter. "I guess that makes me sort of a hypocrite, right?" he said, not expecting an answer, a hand brushing out the many tangles of his long hair.

He pulled a fringe in front of his eyes, his dark green orbs studying the lock of hair critically. Maybe he should cut it. It was getting too long anyway.

"What are you thinking about, right now?" Luna questioned, interrupting Harry in his musing. "Because I'm thinking about walking hotdogs, and how funny it'd be if they ran away before you could eat them. Are you thinking about walking hotdogs and how funny it'd be if they ran away before you could eat them?" Luna questioned seriously.

Harry only faltered for a minute, used to Luna's randomness and answered her question coolly. "Well, now I'm thinking about how weird you are," Harry said, looking at her knowingly. Luna sometimes pretended to be weirder than she was. She got some kind of perverted pleasure out of shocking people. "But I was thinking maybe it's time to cut my hair."

Luna looked up at him dubiously, the dreamy effect disappearing slightly from her eyes. "But you love your hair."

It was true. Harry's hair was his pride and joy. It had sentimental value to him, but maybe it was time, anyway. "Yeah, but I'm thinking it won't be very practical with hair as long as mine with a baby," Harry stated. "Besides, I think it'd be good with a change."

"Maybe," Luna agreed hesitantly, but let it go for the time being. "So have you figured out what you're going to do about the baby and stuff?" Harry looked at her questioningly, and she elaborated. "I mean you have to let everybody know about it. You have to get a doctor's appointment, you have to get a lot of baby things, and you need to inform the people at your work." She ticked of the necessary things, one after another.

Harry groaned loudly. He hadn't thought that far ahead yet. Obviously he'd thought about how he was going to break the news to his family and friends, but the rest he hadn't gotten to yet.

Then there was his work. Harry was a schoolteacher working at Hogwarts Elementary School, part of the prestigious Hogwarts school series.

He'd worked there as a substitute for a year, and had been offered a full time job. Harry would get his first regular class of six-year olds after the summer break. Harry generally loved children, and was really excited about his job, but he wasn't certain how his boss or the rest of the staff would react to him being single, twenty-one years old and pregnant. It wasn't exactly the right criteria for being a schoolteacher to the children of the rich and famous.

"Oh no!" Harry exclaimed as he thought it over. "I hadn't thought about that. I don't think Headmaster Dumbledore would be very pleased about it. It's not exactly a good first impression for the parents." Harry groaned in miserably, "I got drunk, and then pregnant by a stranger," He summarised.

Albus Dumbledore was a much-respected man in Great Britain, and throughout the world for that matter. He was very old, and had previously, until six months ago, been headmaster of Hogwarts High School when he suddenly announced that he wanted to move down to the Elementary section in stead. Harry found the headmaster to be a good, if not somewhat batty old man.

"Oh, this is really bad, Luna!" Harry declared gloomily. Luna got up from her position on the floor and crawled on top of the couch, pressing Harry back as far as he could go. She turned toward him so they were lying nose to nose.

"Don't think so much." She told him confidently. Harry could feel her breath on his skin and nodded his head at her, reassured by her calmness in all of this. "The first thing you should do, is tell your family."

"I know," Harry said, nodding again. "My dad is really going to kill me, you know."

Luna smiled at him, eyes misted over.

"Nah, he wouldn't want to hurt the baby, so you're safe. You should probably worry about Seamus, Dean and Neville. They're the ones he'll kill."

Harry didn't have anything to say to that.

It was the truth after all.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter Four**_

Gregory Goyle was a proud man.

He was not the most intelligent of people, but he wasn't stupid either.

He was hard working and a loving family man. The things he did in his line of work were simply a necessity.

One might classify his line of work and the things he needed to do, as evil or bad, but Gregory Goyle was a good man, nonetheless. He simply did what most people did every day. He made a living so that he could put food on the table for his wife and kids and to pay the bills, and he made his living good.

Then again, most people who worked for Draco Malfoy made their living good. Some more so than others, which was the category Gregory found himself in.

His work was questionable at best. No, actually, it was far beyond questionable. The line between legal and illegal had long since been crossed.

But he was good at what he did, and the pay was excellent.

Which was why Gregory was currently hanging on to the legs of the manager of Fantasia, while said manager was dangling three storeys above the pavement below his apartment window.

"Now, if only you cooperated, sir, I could have you back up here in a second," Gregory told the man in his low, gruff voice. Probably scaring the man even more than doing any good.

"I told you!" the man, a Mr Eddie Lewis, yelled out desperately, "I don't know who it is you're looking for!" He fruitlessly tried to plead with the big man holding him back from certain death.

Greg sighed in irritation, and loosened his hold on the man, making him sink further down. "That is bull, sir, and you know it. Everybody on the guest list of Fantasia is kept on file in the Fantasia archive, and the ones let in outside of the list has their picture taken and gets their own file," Gregory explained what the manager already knew, thinking about the rather advanced system of Fantasia.

The system, as it was known, was created a few years prior by the original owner of the club during a more troubling time. There had been a period of time where too many of the club's patrons were involved in drugs, illegal weapons trading and even murder.

Some of it had taken place inside of the club and the police had quickly been involved.

It became bad business for Fantasia, and it was quickly ruining the owner's name and credibility.

In a stroke of pure genius, the owner had, with the help of a good friend, started an advanced security system designed to eliminate problematic clientele and to help out the police in their investigation.

Now there was kept a picture and a file on every single patron of Fantasia.

The system was a success, and the crime rate dropped at an amazing speed, to the relief of both the police and club owner.

"He could have avoided the system!" the man screamed out fearfully, desperate for any kind of information to save himself. Anything the other man might want to know.

Greg tightened his grip around the slipping legs.

Finally they were getting somewhere.

"Please continue, sir," Greg ordered, thankful that he might get home sooner than he thought.

"Sometimes the employees let their friends enter without having to go through the security system. Just a little harmless fun, you know?" the man laughed nervously, eyes squeezed shut in fright. He prayed to God that the answer was satisfactory, but the sudden silence was killing him.

Figuratively speaking of course. He wasn't dead.

Yet.

Greg mulled over this new information in his head, thinking about the progress he was making.

"Interesting," he murmured too low for the dangling man to hear. "All right, Mr Lewis," Greg told to him, "this is what is going to happen," he ordered the terrified man as he dragged him back into the apartment.

The short, round fellow fell to the floor in relief, uncaring of the tears that was running down his round, fat cheeks as he kissed the solid ground. "Anything!" the man begged of him. "Please, don't kill me! I'll do anything! Just leave me alone!"

Greg looked at the pathetic man and snorted. He had lost count of how many times he had stared at a man, much like the one in front of him, and they had promised him the very same thing.

People were pathetic when they begged for their lives.

"I will accompany you back to Fantasia, and you _will_ find out who let in our little lost guest," Greg told the shaking man firmly, leaving no room for negotiations.

Lewis nodded his head frantically, willing to agree to anything to keep himself alive.

"Good," Greg commented and grabbed the back of the man's thick neck. "Let's go," he ordered.

He dragged the man out of his apartment and fished his phone out of his pocket. "Crabbe," he spoke into the phone, "I got something. We're coming down."

"Roger that," the voice on the other end, his partner, answered.

Greg ignored the man sputtering beside him as he towed him towards the waiting car in front of the building.

He pushed Lewis into the backseat of the car, and seated himself in the front passenger seat. He sighed heavily and put his head gingerly against the window of the car, careful of the impending headache. Secure in the knowledge that Lewis couldn't see him because of the dark piece of glass cutting the inside of the black car in half.

"How'd it go?" Crabbe asked his partner and friend.

"Got what we needed. Like always," Greg answered.

Vincent Crabbe turned his head to look at the other man. He looked tired and worn out.

"The baby keeping you up at night?" he asked, thinking about his goddaughter, and his friend's newborn. Gregory smiled, thinking about what was waiting for him at home.

"Yeah. She seems to quiet down when I tell her about my day," Greg grinned at his best friend.

They laughed together, and continued talking as they drove to Fantasia, ready to make a little hell there as well.

Vincent Crabbe, like Gregory, was not a stupid man, though he too was not the most intelligent of people. He had finished high school despite the odds against him, something of which he was incredibly proud of. His dream was to get a college degree sometime. And he would too, he'd promised himself that a long time ago. Now was just not the right time.

His life had been a hard one.

Both he and his good friend Greg had been beaten down by life more than once. They both came from old English families, but their families had both gambled away their fortunes before the two boys were even born.

They were the generation forced to pay for it.

And pay for it they had.

Their families had been allies throughout the ages, and Vincent and Greg had been friends since childhood. They had cried together as children when the money collectors had come for their possessions and the little money they had left. They had gone through being put on the streets together.

They had been together when they had been told there was simply no way for them to enter college. And they stood by one another when they had reached rock bottom.

They'd been living on the streets when by chance, Draco Malfoy, had stumbled upon them. Ever since then they had worked for the other man, doing little errands at first. But as time passed, their gratefulness and loyalty to the man who had saved them from the streets and taken their families with them, had promoted them to personal bodyguards, valuing their great builds and fierce loyalty.

Draco Malfoy had saved their lives and given them a second chance, however clichéd that may sound. This was the very reason the two men, who were brothers in all but blood, did what they did for Draco Malfoy.

It was also the reason why Mr Eddie Lewis was currently hunched over his work desk at Fantasia with the barrel of a smooth, silver gun pressed against the back of his head.

The two large men behind him had him frantically calling up every employee of the club to find out who let in the man the strangers were searching for. Which was no small feat seeing as he was under so much pressure and because Fantasia was not a small club.

Not by a long shot.

It was divided into two main parts, the dance club and the club's restaurant. The two had a different set of entrance, but one could go between the two inside the building. This made it even worse for Mr Lewis since it meant more workers to call. They stayed inside the manager's office for several hours before they finally got a hit.

One of the bouncers on that fateful night Draco Malfoy had met his unknown man, had illegally let in four men into the club.

One of them had been a previous lover of his.

After having been threatened repeatedly, first by the manager then by Vincent and by default, Draco Malfoy, the man was finally ready to give up the name of his ex-lover, though he did not know the name of the others. Having gotten what they wanted, Vincent cracked his knuckles pleasantly and prepared to leave.

He stopped by the door to wait for his partner.

It was Greg's turn to give the parting words.

He watched as Gregory, with glee, pushed the gun a little harder to the man's scull. The things they did to make a living might be wrong, but it sure as hell was amusing at times.

"We thank you for your cooperation Mr Lewis. I trust that no one will find out about our little meeting this evening," Greg told the man pleasantly, not needing to explain what would happen should the man go to the authorities.

Eddie Lewis nodded his head wildly, desperate for the other men to leave.

"Good. You have a good evening now, Mr Lewis."

And with those parting words, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe, infamous throughout the Europe underground for their work in the service of one Draco Malfoy, left the building of Fantasia.

"We better let the boss know we found something," Vincent commented as they pulled out of the parking lot in their sleek, black Mercedes.

Gregory silently agreed. Two whole weeks had passed since their boss first had ordered him to find his 'friend' again, and they hadn't been very successful thus far. Greg was sure if they had been any other persons, Draco would have fired them after the first day.

But Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were the best at what they did.

Draco himself had made sure they had the necessary training to become the very best.

And it had paid off.

There were no others more capable then the two of them to complete the order they had received. Regardless of their efficiency, their boss was quickly growing restless, which was never a good thing. Gregory thought his boss' behaviour to be more than a little peculiar.

He was certain that he had never seen his boss behave like this before. Never had he seen Draco Malfoy so caught up in something, or rather, someone. If Greg were to put a name to how his usually aloof boss was acting, he would have pinned it down as desperation. Rridiculous.

Draco Malfoy didn't do desperation.

Right?

Deciding to further analyse his boss' strange behavioural pattern at a later time, Greg picked up his phone to call the man.

He didn't have to wait long, and the short, mechanical order; "Speak", had shivers running down his back.

"Boss," he answered, explaining swiftly, "We got a lead through the manager."

"Tell me," the cold tones were enough to scare the shit out of the bravest of men, and despite the fact that Greg had heard his boss speak countless times before, it still terrified him.

Nothing good could come from a man with so few emotions.

Draco Malfoy was a man with extremely few emotions.

"One of the bouncers let in four unauthorised guests on the night of July 31. One of them matches the description of your 'friend,'" Greg told his boss.

"Did you get a name?" Greg blinked in surprise at the question.

His boss sounded almost _eager_.

"Yes," he said slowly. "But not the name of your 'friend.' It was one of the guys he was with," Greg explained. He could hear the annoyed sigh of his boss at this information, and hurried on with his explanation. "The guy is named Dean, ex-lover of the bouncer. Apparently, they didn't spend all that much time together. But he did know that this Dean character is an artist of some kind."

This new information was greeted with silence, and Greg shared a worried look with his partner. 'What's going on?' Vincent mouthed to him. Greg just shook his head and shrugged.

"Interesting," the man on the other line suddenly stated. "Was there anything else?"

Greg jolted at the sudden question, but nodded his head in affirmative, as he told his boss the last of what he knew. "Yes, there was one more thing. They were celebrating. It was one of their birthdays, though the bouncer didn't know which one's or how old." The line went silent again, and Greg shifted restlessly in his seat.

"You did good Gregory. Vincent, too," the man praised him respectfully, and Greg felt the familiar feeling of loyalty and care toward his boss like he always did when the man praised him or showed him any kind of respect. "Get home and rest until tomorrow. I'll call you then. Give my regards to your wife and tell Vincent well done." The line went dead, and Greg shook his head resignedly at his phone.

* * *

Though he hadn't let it show in his voice, Draco was very pleased with this development.

Somehow the name Dean struck out in Draco's mind. Finally they were getting somewhere after two weeks of waiting.

It had to be the longest time yet, that Draco had ever coveted something and still did not possess whatever it was that he wanted.

Draco stood in his office at the top of the company building, staring out of the large window, admiring the night sky and scenery below. He'd been working when Gregory called him. Now he took a short break before he went back to the mountain of ever waiting paperwork.

Most people would call Draco Malfoy a workaholic, and even Draco was forced to agree with this.

Working was something he enjoyed doing, but for all his fame and fortune, there was no one to share it with at the end of the day.

He didn't like to admit it, but Draco wanted a family and he wanted love. Though he sincerely doubted that true love even existed. The closest thing he'd come to ever feeling remotely in love was that night with the unknown vixen, which was why Draco was so desperate to find him.

And he was desperate.

He had admitted that much days prior to this moment. He needed to know if what he had felt that night was simply just one of those fleeting moments, or if it could become something more.

Something special.

Draco sighed heavily in irritation and dragged a heavy hand through his hair.

He was going soft thinking things like this. It was all so unfamiliar to him. Never before had he felt what he felt when he thought back to that fateful night with the unknown, beautiful man.

"Where are you?" he wondered aloud. He shook his head and decided to get back to work. The stack of papers wouldn't disappear on their own accord. He was just getting into the rhythm of it when his phone vibrated, indicating an incoming call. He checked the caller ID glaring across the screen with big black letters. He wondered who had blabbed.

Draco smirked.

This should be entertaining. "Pansy," he greeted like he always greeted her; arrogance and haughtiness obvious in his voice. "Whatever can I do for you this lovely evening?"

"Cut the crap, Draco!" she screeched into the phone. Draco had to remove his phone from his ear, at her loud screeching. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she demanded, angrily.

"Well, darling," he started. "My name is Draco Malfoy and I'm..."

"Fuck you!" she cut him of. "I want to know why you were tracking down my employees just a few hours ago," she ordered him as if he would do as she commanded simply because she said so.

Pansy had always thought a little too high of herself.

Pansy Parkinson had been a classmate of Draco's ever since he was old enough to go to school.

She came from the same roots as Draco, a posh family with old family money. As small children, there had been much speculation in regards to a possible future marital alliance between their families.

However, there had never been a contract, something for which Draco was eternally grateful for. Pansy was not only a girl, something which already repulsed him, but she had not been so lucky with her gene pool.

Today her appearance was at least pleasant, compared to what she once had looked like, but that was solely because of the many operations she had gone through as a teenager. She had also been one of the many who had tried to gain his affections after she had gained her new looks. It was right after Draco had started out for himself, before he had announced to the world he was gay and loving it. She didn't deal too well with rejection as Draco had learned when he cruelly turned her down.

Furthermore, Pansy was currently the owner of Fantasia, having bought the club/restaurant seven months earlier.

"Why, Pansy? Worried I might steal it from under your ridiculously large nose?" Draco taunted her maliciously, knowing very well that it was something Pansy feared very much.

"I'm warning you, Draco. Stay away from my club!" she ordered him fiercely, her screeching voice reaching new levels of loudness.

Draco's smirk widened by his successful attempt at distracting Pansy from the real reason she was calling about. "I promise Pansy, that I shall stay away from your little club. For now," Draco promised in his sneering voice. Pleased when Pansy screamed out something incoherently into the phone and abruptly disconnected the call.

That would keep her busy for a while, Draco thought with glee. Pansy would spend the next few weeks making sure there was no possible way for Draco to somehow take over Fantasia.

It would buy him some time should he need to contact any of the Fantasia workers again.

If Draco was a workaholic, Pansy was obsessed when it came to her work.

Fantasia was her baby, and she wouldn't loose it without a fight. She was the one who had added the restaurant to the already popular club, making it even more in demand. The original owner of the club had always loved being in charge, and had taken great care of it.

But Pansy breathed the club.

It was her life.

Pansy and Draco were far from being friends, and so it was slightly amusing for Draco that Pansy cared so much for something Draco had helped build. The original owner of Fantasia had been Blaise Zabini, Draco's best friend.

Fantasia had been Blaise's idea, but he didn't have the capital at the time, and had gone looking for sponsors.

No one was willing to sponsor the self-disowned child of the Zabini family, and in the end Blaise had been forced to go to Draco with his plans. He hadn't wanted too, this was something he wanted to do on his own. But he wasn't stupid. Blaise knew that to he succeed with his project, he needed a starting capital.

He knew Draco believed in him and would give him the money. Draco had, on the condition that Blaise pay back every single penny Draco lent him. This condition was more for Blaise's sake then it Draco's. He already knew Blaise was good for the money, but thought it would do some good for his friend's honour.

It had.

Blaise had built a little kingdom in high standard quality, and both men had reaped the benefits. Now the sponsors were lining up at his feet, wanting to be part of Blaise's next project. When the crime scandals had started happening, Draco had been quick to interact before things got too far out of hand.

He had talked Blaise into introducing a system, one of the many teams working for him had come up with, to the club. Fortunately the system worked, and was quickly adopted by several other establishments throughout Europe and later the world.

Fantasia was suddenly on the world map and made into one of the many attractions of London. The club and its security system, registered as Fantasia, made Blaise into a very rich man and it was now he started delving into other hobbies. Soon he discovered the world of fashion and modelling.

It didn't take long before Blaise lost interest in the club and wanted to start his own modelling firm.

Draco remembered fondly the day his best friend had stormed into his office and declared his new purpose in life.

"You're going to start a modelling agency?" Draco had asked him incuriously.

Blaise had nodded his head vigorously, and Draco had stared at his friend, amazed. "But you don't know anything about modelling," Draco had fruitlessly tried to reason with the man.

It didn't matter, though. Blaise had made up his mind.

Once Blaise Zabini set his mind to something, he didn't stop until he got it right.

It hadn't been easy and it still wasn't. Blaise hadn't needed a start capital this time, as he had his own money. But as Draco had already told him, he didn't know the first thing about modelling.

Then there was the business with the club.

After much thought on the matter, Blaise had finally decided to sell. The buyers had circled in on him like a pack of hungry wolves.

Pansy Parkinson had come out the winner, and had been owner of the club ever since.

Blaise was pleased with the sale, and knew his precious was in capable hands despite the bad history between them.

Pansy and Blaise hadn't exactly been friends as children. If Draco remembered correctly, Blaise had been one of those beside Draco who had bullied Pansy something terribly as a child.

But people grew up eventually, Draco supposed as he thought about his childhood friend.

Blaise had once been so carefree without any responsibilities before the pressure of his father had settled firmly on his shoulders.

Now Blaise had somehow come to terms with his past, and was more carefree then he'd been in a long time despite his young twenty-five years.

"Yes!" Draco gasped out suddenly, startling himself. That was where he had the name Dean from. Blaise had bragged about having a very pleasant night with a man named Dean a few months back.

The only reason Draco remembered the incident at all was because Blaise had picked him up in an art gallery for up and coming artists.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Five**_

When he finally awoke after a long restless night, only to find his wife missing, on a Sunday no less, James Potter immediately knew that this day was not going to be a good one. He grew more suspicious of this fact when he, after several minutes of stretching, hauled himself out of bed and into the bathroom to take a shower, only to find that for some odd reason there was no hot water left.

He was forced to suffer through five minutes of agonising cold while cursing the Gods above.

When he stepped out of the shower he discovered that there were no clean towels hanging on the rack beside the shower stall, and that his morning robe had mysteriously vanished.

James Potter could do nothing but shake his head at his unfortunate fate and hurry across the slippery bathroom floor to get to his closet in the bedroom. Of course, seeing as this was not his day, he slipped on the tiled floor and fell painfully on his rear end.

Now with a sore bottom and a bruised ego, James limped as best as he could back inside the bedroom.

He rummaged through his dresser, looking for something suitable to wear. But as the fates were conspiring against him today, it just had to be Sunday, which meant laundry day. All he found now was an old pair of blue jeans and an even older shirt.

Hawaiian style.

He could have lived with that, James thought with anguish, but it was all made worse by the fact that the jeans were cut into shorts.

Very short shorts.

James sighed heavily in despair as he put on his dreaded clothes, and wondered why he hadn't thrown away the offending article of clothes, long ago.

He prayed to whatever deity out there that his best friends or sons did not stop by the house today. He feared he would never live it down otherwise. However, because as he had previously deducted, this was obviously not his day, and James didn't count on it.

James Potter was a very well off man. He was tall and handsome, healthy and fit like a man much younger than his forty-four years of age. He was a cop for the British police, and had worked his up through the ranks during his career, but came from old family money.

James Potter was in fact a rich man. Not overly so, but he had enough to live comfortably his whole life while providing for his wife and five sons. Not that he had to. All his sons had their own jobs and his wife was a brilliant doctor.

The point was that he had money.

And because he did have money, he lived in a rather big house with his lovely wife, and had several people working for him.

Because he had several people working for him in his own house, James found it impossible to walk dignified with his head held high, when as he tried to make his way towards the kitchens, he could hear the giggling of the working maids and the snickering of his male staff, no doubt finding his attire for the day amusing as hell.

It was a relief when he finally found himself outside the kitchen door. However his relief was cut short when he smelled something all the inhabitants of the Potter household dreaded: the burnt smell of Lily Potter's cooking.

This was how James Potter found his suspicions of this particular Sunday being a bad one, to be firmly confirmed.

James loved his wife. Really, he did.

But Lily Potter could not for the very life of her, cook a meal. Or do any other domestic chores for that matter, which was one of the reason they had a house staff working for them in the first place.

Lily Potter was a beautiful lady with a brilliant mind, but give her an ironer and she would burn a hole in your clothing. Put her in a room with a washing machine and she would flood the room with soap and water. Any other sort of house chores, and she would find a way to make something go wrong. The worst of it usually occured every time she decided to cook.

The outcome would always be two possible scenarios. She would either; burn down the kitchen, which she had done before, twice. Or she would unintentionally poison you with her food, which she had also done.

More than twice.

You would think after having so many accidents happening while doing house chores, one would stop doing it. But no one, least of all James, had the heart to tell her how terrible she was at it.

Which was why Lily Potter had no idea she was a death trap waiting to happen.

James knew he should probably sneak away before she caught him hesitating outside of the kitchen, but he was really hungry, so he manned up instead of running away like a little girl.

Two things happened when he opened the kitchen door. The aroma from Lily's cooking nearly had him unconscious, and the sight of his best friend sitting at the kitchen table made him wish he had run away. Like a little girl if necessary.

"Oh, there you are James. I was wondering if you were going to spend all morning in bed," Lily started as she heard him open the door, but trailed of in shock as she got a good look at him.

Sirius, who had yet to discover him, looked up from his newspaper at the sudden silence. He stared at his best friend in complete amazement, and James started the countdown in his head with trepidation.

3, 2, 1. And right on cue, Sirius started howling hysterically with laughter.

Sirius had always had that kind of infectious laugh, and James thought he most likely would have joined in on the laughing had it not been for the fact that he was clearly on the receiving end of extreme humiliation.

"James." Lily tried. "That is really something!" she managed out after unsuccessfully smothering her giggling.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Sirius wheezed out in wonder between huge gulps for air and hysterical laughing. "You look like a Hawaiian prostitute, or something!"

"Could those shorts be any shorter?"

"This is not funny!" James declared annoyed, glaring at them as best as he could, standing in his pair of short shorts and a bright old Hawaiian shirt.

"I had nothing else to wear. All my other clothes were taken for cleaning!" He grumbled out, shuffling his bare feet in irritation. After a few more moments of laughing, James finally had enough.

"That's it! I'm locking myself in the bedroom for the day," he told them and headed for the door.

"No, James! Wait! Just sit down and eat your breakfast. We won't laugh anymore," Lily giggled madly at him. It took some time, but they finally settled down.

The three of them gathered around the table to share their breakfast together like they usually did. Or on the rare occasions Lily managed to persuade the cooks and let her take over the cooking, suffer through whatever meal they were eating and hope they'd make it through the ordeal alive.

They were having such a good time, James thought maybe this wouldn't be such a bad day after all, but sadly he was proven wrong with the arrival of his oldest son. Eric was the oldest of James and Lily's first couple of twins.

Eric and William were fraternal twins, and looked nothing alike.

Eric was brown eyed and dark haired, tall and lean. He was the quiet one of the children, but had not always been that way, and would get fired up if you threatened him or anyone close to him. As a child Eric had been an adorable boy, lively and bubbly. Much like his twin brother. After an accident, a horrible event involving his youngest brother, Eric had drastically changed.

Eric Potter was now usually the most reasonable out of all his children, but if you got him drunk or upset, he got either really dramatic, or aggressive.

The front door to the house banging open and the screams of his son, told James that Eric had been drinking way too early in the morning, or something bad had happened. Hearing his son call out for him, rather frantically at that, made James realise his son wasn't drunk.

He had feeling he'd prefer a drunk son to whatever was worrying Eric.

In his mind it sounded better than the many different, horrible scenarios that ran through his mind.

"Dad!" Eric yelled out to him as he burst through the kitchen door. He stopped only momentarily to stare gob smacked at his father's attire before calming himself down somewhat. The fact that his son did not take the time to make fun of him in his current attire, told James that something was very, very wrong. His sons always had time to make fun of their old dad.

"Dad!" His son locked eyes with him, and James braced himself.

"You're never gonna guess who's up for parole in three months!" Eric told him urgently.

Eric was a policeman, too. He was a lieutenant in the homicide division, and a very good one at that. His son had put several people behind bars in his career, but James really had no clue as to whom he might be talking about.

Seeing the blank look on his father's face, Eric's patience ran out.

"It's Pettigrew!" he practically growled out. James stared at his son, stunned.

This new piece of information was enough to give James bad days for the rest of his life.

Pettigrew.

Eric didn't have to give a first name.

James new the name almost better than his own.

It had haunted him for days and nights once, and now it looked as if it would do so again.

"You're positive it's him?" James found the need to ask, but new it was true anyway.

He sighed heavily as his son nodded mutely, and closed his eyes in despair. Peter Pettigrew.

Wow.

He hadn't thought about the other man for years. Ever since they captured the man and he was convicted for a lifetime in prison, James had all but erased every memory he had of the man from his mind and from his life.

"Why is he up for parole anyway?" Sirius questioned angrily. James looked at his best friend, nodding his agreement. It looked like Sirius was just as upset as James himself was. Lily looked upset too, James noticed. She was white as a sheet.

This was their worst nightmare. Something they didn't need in their life.

"On good behaviour, and repentance for his deeds."

James snorted at that, furious at the whole situation.

"Peter has never felt an ounce of remorse his whole life. He's a rat! He will do anything if his life depends on it, and that is something he'll never regret!" James spoke with conviction, thinking about his former friend.

Peter Pettigrew had once been the fourth part of the infamous Marauders; a group of four boys pulling pranks on people during their high school years. They'd been best friends.

They had once been so carefree and happy, so immature.

They had slowly started growing into their own, becoming men and making the transition into the real world. James had been the first of them to become what most people would classify as an adult.

He fell in love with Lily Evans the first time he saw her.

For him it truly was love at first sight.

For Lily, not so much.

She thought him obnoxious and despicable. However, James was a determined young fellow, and slowly but surely managed to charm his way into Lily's heart. They had been seventeen when they got the news that changed their lives forever; Lily was pregnant. It hadn't been planned, and it certainly hadn't been easy, but somehow they had pulled through, and grown up.

Abortion had never been an option for them.

James regretted that there was a lot of things he would probably never get to do because of Lily and the kids, but he never regretted having the twins or Lily in his life. His wife and children were his life, which was why Pettigrew's crime had been so terrible.

So deceitful.

It was a little over a year after Harry's birth when it happened.

It had been Halloween. The whole family was going trick or treating; Sirius, Remus, Lily, himself and the kids.

Eric had been sick with the flu, so he was not allowed to go, and Lily thought Harry was too young. Peter had volunteered to babysit, and seeing nothing wrong with it James and Lily had agreed. Peter was their friend, after all. It was about thirty minutes after the family had left the house when Eric had fallen fast asleep in his room.

Peter had recently run into trouble with a few loan sharks, and he owned them huge amounts of money he did not have.

He had to get it in less than 48 hours.

Desperate to save his own life, Peter had done a bit of research and discovered the black market.

Finding himself with no other options, Peter kidnapped baby Harry so that he could sell him on the market.

The highest bidder turned out to be a man named Tom Riddle.

Tom Riddle was a well known criminal, one the British police were desperate to find. The man was responsible for a series of killings over the span of several years. He was known as the body art killer because he kidnapped his victims, and then carved markings into their skin until they bled to death. Riddle thought himself an artist, and was immensely proud of his work.

Baby Harry would most likely be dead if it weren't for little Eric who woke up sooner than Peter had anticipated.

He quickly noticed that he was alone, and grew as wary as a seven year old could be. He immediately called his parents and told them of his missing brother and babysitter. What followed his call was three weeks of agonised waiting. Peter had gone into hiding with his money. Nobody knew where he was.

Tom did the same, bringing Harry with him. No one knew why Tom decided to wait as long as he did before he performed his art on the stolen baby.

Nobody really cared either, as it turned out to be a blessing.

The police found Peter trying to escape the country, and as it turned out, he knew where Riddle's hiding place was located. The police busted down his front door just right after Tom had started his 'work.' The first cop who saw him, shot him on sight, but by then the damaged was already done. He had started carving on the forehead of baby Harry, and when the blood stopped flowing and the wound healed, one could clearly see a scar of what looked like a lighting bolt.

To this day the scar was still there.

Harry became somewhat of a celebrity throughout Britain after that.

The press dubbed him Harry Potter, the boy who lived.

James and Lily didn't like the attention Harry got one single bit, and made sure to keep him out of the public eye, scared that their child would attract the attention of other insane people. Now of course the attention had long since died away, but Harry had grown up extremely sheltered as a result of the whole event.

"That man has no business being out of jail! I can't believe this!" James exclaimed loudly, all the memories of his previous friend making him angrier and angrier.

"What can't you believe?" Remus Lupin wondered as he stumbled into the kitchen. It was a normal occurrence for people to walk right into the house without knocking or using the house bell. "And whatever are you wearing?" he asked, looking at James' clothes incredulously.

"Never mind that, Remy." Sirius ordered the man, answering for his best friend.

"Pettigrew is up for parole soon," he growled out, looking as if he was about to explode in anger.

Remus was usually a very cool and collected man, but he looked absolutely outraged at the news. He normally had the patience of a God, as Sirius and James had discovered plenty of times. And though he didn't look like much, if you got him angry enough, he would pummel you to the ground. He was insanely strong despite his appearance, and would fight until he had no strength left to protect those he loved.

"I think," Lily started, speaking for the first time since her son arrived. "That we should all move into the living room. It's getting a little crowded in her." She spoke shakily, swaying a bit as she got to her feet.

They had just settled down in the living room when a voice called out to them.

"Hello? Is anybody home?"

"In here, sweetheart." Lily answered her son, and soon two more figures appeared in the room.

It was the youngest set of twins, the identical ones.

"Oi! What's going on in here? Are we having a family meeting?" one of them questioned jokingly, most likely George Lucas, or Luke as everybody called him.

The youngest twins were well known celebrities.

One of them was a popular actor with no less than two Oscars, and the other was a brilliant football player for Manchester United. The fact that they were identical twins was an endless source of amusement for the brothers.

The paparazzi had so much difficulty identifying one from the other, they had to stop taking pictures to save themselves from getting sued whenever one of them got a picture taken, but the other's name would appear on the newspaper or magazine that bought the photograph.

It was a brilliant tactic, created by their godfather Sirius, who was also their attorney.

The twins were usually very mischievous, something they got from James no doubt, but seeing the sombre atmosphere now, made them sober up.

"Hey, what's going on?" the other twin, Jack, wondered as they picked up on the strange vibes.

"Sit down." James told his sons and filled them in on the latest news. They discussed the news back and forth for several hours until they finally came to the decision that they wouldn't tell Harry of the news just yet, and that they had to let the only other missing Potter brother, William, know as soon as they saw him.

"Speaking of Harry, has anybody heard from him lately?" Lily wondered from where she sat in the nook of her husband's warm arms.

"No, I haven't heard from him ever since his birthday. I was pretty busy that day, but I called to say happy birthday." Eric shared with her.

"Yeah me, too." Sirius mused. "I tried calling him a couple of days ago, though. He didn't pick up the phone." He told her, and Lily worried her bottom lip between her teeth, concerned something might have happened. She was used to all her babies keeping in touch throughout the week, but she hadn't heard from her youngest in about three weeks now.

"Relax, Lily," Remus told her gently. His warm voice was calm and soothing. "I'm sure he's fine," Remus said comfortingly, and as if to prove his point another voice called out.

"Hey, guys. Look who I found lurking around outside." William Potter, Eric's absent twin told them as he entered the room with Harry dragged behind him.

"Oh, my baby!" Lilly cried out, happy with relief and rushed to embrace her youngest. "I missed you so much!" She told him as she squeezed him tight, completely ignoring Harry's protest of being her baby.

"And what am I mom?" William questioned, looking highly insulted where he stood beside his mother and little brother. "Garbage?" He asked her jokingly, a warm smile playing at his lips.

Lily grinned up at her much taller son, the only one of her sons to inherit her red hair. "Well, we always were uncertain as to whether we should keep you or not," she told him, joking back at him.

"Nice mom, real nice." He said with a hand over his heart, as if physically hurt, and fell dramatically to the floor.

"Mom!" Harry cried out, desperately. "I can't breathe!"

"Let the boy go, Lily. He's turning blue!" James laughed. "And get up from the floor, William. You're not a child anymore."

Lily grumbled at her husband, but did as requested. She looked over Harry critically. He looked tired and thin, like he'd been sick recently. Nothing like his usual glowing self. Harry had always been such a happy child, laughing and smiling despite the many ordeals he'd been through in his short life.

"Have you been eating right, darling? You look too skinny. Maybe I should make you something to eat."

The immediate response of the whole group yelling out a desperate 'No' was followed by an awkward silence. Lily looked at everyone curiously, but no one would look her in the eyes. 'Weird,' she thought while Harry bit his lip nervously, a habit he had from Lily and brushed a fringe of hair away from his eyes, revealing the famous scar on his forehead.

"No, that's okay mom." He told her hesitantly, knowing there was no way he could eat anything his mother had made in his condition. "Actually, I have something to tell you. That's why I'm here." He told them shyly.

Refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

"Are you on drugs?" James asked his son immediately, the words gritted out at the thought of his precious, little one doing something that horrid. Harry faltered for a moment, and shook his head in irritation. His father could be such a drama queen at times.

"No, daddy. That's not it," Harry said, the annoyance clear in his voice, but using the word daddy to soften his father up.

James did soften at hearing his son call him daddy, it reminded him of when his kids were still young and depended on him. He was still about to fire off another question when Sirius butted in, and Harry felt like kissing him for his trouble. "Why don't you let him speak before you jump to conclusions," Sirius spoke, winking at his godson.

James grudgingly settled down and looked up at his son expectantly. Harry cleared his throat awkwardly as all the attention was suddenly on him. He really hadn't planned for the whole family, including Sirius and Remus to be there when he arrived at the house.

He had almost lost his nerve and was headed back to his car when William had turned up and dragged Harry with him into the house.

"Relax, daddy. I'm not on drugs. It is something big, though," Harry could tell he had their complete attention by the way several of the men were seated on the edge of their seat.

"I guess there is no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to say it outright. But I want you to know that it's not bad. I promise it's not! Or at least I don't think it's bad. And it definitely wasn't planned, but I'm actually really glad it happened. It also happened on my birthday, so it was a very nice present, too. And anyway, I went to the doctor and he says I'm fine and…"

His brother suddenly cut of Harry's long rant.

"Oh for crying out loud, Harry. What do you mean about the doctor saying you're fine? Why wouldn't you be?" William asked a little desperately. He himself was a doctor and the many possible things that could possibly be wrong with his brother concerned both him, and the others present.

"I'm pregnant!" Harry blurted out before he lost what little courage he had left.

The silence following his outburst was deafening, and Harry got the sudden urge to run and hide.

"You're what?" James asked dangerously.

"I'm pregnant," Harry whispered, almost too low for anyone to hear.

They stared at him in shock and disbelief.

No. James concluded in his mind. This was definitely not his day.

"What do you mean you're pregnant?" He yelled at his son as he stood up from the sofa.

"How the hell could you be so stupid? You're too young to be having a baby." James told his youngest child.

"This is worse than drugs!" he concluded.

"Oh, that's rich dad!" Harry snorted sarcastically at him. He was a real firecracker when he got angry, much like his father.

"I'm twenty-one and I'm not old enough to have a baby?" he said in disbelief. "How old were you daddy, when mom got pregnant?" Harry demanded of his father.

"That is not the same, Harry!" James told him as he paced back and forth, the rest of the people in the living room following the whole ordeal with rapt attention.

"Not the same? How can that not be the same?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Because I was seventeen and a kid who didn't know any better." James told him. "You do know better. I have raised you to know better!"

Harry stared at his father angrily. "That is the worst justification I have ever heard!" he declared, not understanding why his father was making a bigger deal out of it then it all ready was. He'd always suspected that James would be angry when he told him, but his father was practically breathing fire at him.

"You know why I think this bothers you?" Harry asked him, holding a hand protectively over his stomach. "It's because you put me on a pedestal. And it's so freaking high that everything normal I do is like a sin to you!"

Harry was panting harshly in his ire, and there were tears gathering in his eyes. James couldn't bear to see his child in tears and looked away from him, meeting his wife's angry gaze instead. "Fix this," she mouthed to him, and he knew if he didn't solve this he'd be sleeping on the couch again.

"Maybe I do put you on a pedestal, Harry," he said very quietly.

"But that's because I know you're so much better than everybody else. You've always been so pure in our lives." James told him gently, desperate for his son to understand that to him, Harry was still a little boy. He was still his baby.

His sweet, darling Harry.

He felt small arms wrap around his middle, and Harry's wet face pressed against his back.

"It's not fair, daddy. I'm not better than everybody else. I'm not. You shouldn't put me in such high regards," he mumbled into James' ridiculous Hawaiian shirt. They stood there hugging for quite a while, and didn't notice that the others had left them to work things out, no doubt gossiping about the news in the kitchen.

"I'm sorry if I've disappointed you, daddy. I really am. But I love my baby, and I'll never regret keeping him or her," Harry told his father gently, praying that he would understand.

James turned around in his arms and wrapped his own arms around Harry in an embrace that was all familiar to Harry.

"I get that, Prongslet. I do," James said, using the nickname Harry had gotten at birth by Sirius.

"But you have to know that all I ever want is for you to be safe and happy. A baby is a lot of work. And could be a difficult strain on your body. What if something happens? You know you're not in the best of health. Are you sure you want to do this?" James wondered, hinting at a possible abortion.

"I'm not getting an abortion, daddy! I already saw a doctor, and he said I'm fine. He thinks I'll have no problem carrying the baby full term," Harry told him determinedly, willing to do anything to make sure his baby was safe.

"Fine." James sighed. His son was as stubborn as himself, and he guessed there was no turning back now. As long as Harry was healthy enough, he supposed it was fine. He would make sure both his wife and son checked him over, just to be on the safe side.

He squeezed his arms tighter around his son and Harry smiled. He always felt so safe in his father's embrace.

"So, who's the father? Do I know him?"

Suddenly Harry didn't feel so safe anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Chapter Six_**

It was a well-known establishment, catering for high-end clientele and important businessmen and women.

On the outside it looked exclusive and expensive, a gigantic building towering menacingly over all nearby structures, making them appear smaller than they really were. On the inside its luxurious décor was like something right out of a magazine.

Which it was.

It screamed out with its rich design and interior, and would overwhelm you with its fairytale-like look. It was like a high-tech modern castle meant for royalties, and yet it somehow managed to lull you into a very sincere and glam feeling of home.

The construction consisted of large, smooth windows, darkened to make it was impossible to look inside. The design was relatively new and something else entirely. Its structure took the form of three gigantic pillars coiled and twisted amongst each other. Like snakes slithering around their prey. It was daring and threatening. Powerful, much like the owner of the building himself.

It was a piece of the famous Weasley series.

An architect who had been brought to his position of fame and riches by the very same man he worked for. His one and only client: Draco Malfoy.

Ronald Weasley, Ron to his friends, came from a large and poor family. In a family of six boys and one girl, Ron was the youngest boy and often forgotten. He was not like his older brothers, who were all special in their own way.

His oldest brother Bill, was a curse breaker. As an archaeologist, specialising in Egyptian history, Bill's job was cracking ancient codes and curses on various digs. He was usually stationed in Egypt.

Ron's other brother Charlie, was an adventurous wildlife expert who worked with highly dangerous animals in an exotic zoo in Romania. He was the wild child of the family and had once turned down an offer to become a professional football player.

Next came his brother Percy. Percy was a very uptight man. He was one of those people who lived for two things; rules and obedience. After finishing his highly successful school career, he went to work for the British Ministry as the personal assistant for a powerful politician.

The fourth and fifth children of the Weasley family were the twins. Fred and George had never cared much for school, and though they were not stupid by any means, they were notorious jokesters and used their smarts to invent new jokes and pranks. They had struggled both with their mother and teachers, who had all tried to get them to take an interest in school so they could finish their education and get a job. The twins had proven them all wrong when they used the recopies for all their pranks to establish their own joke shop. The business had quickly become successful, much to the surprise of their mother, though she supported her sons' choices as best as she could.

After the twins, there was Ron. Tall, gangly, awkward Ron who had never been anything special. His younger sister by a year had never really needed anything major to define her. Ginny was the only girl and already special. Ron however, poor Ron, had no expectations of him. He was the second youngest of seven children, and was often lost and abandoned in the large crowd of kids.

It was not so bad as to define it as neglect, but every piece of clothing, toys and any other possession he might own had once been previously used by one or several of his older brothers. Ron had always been without his own identity to an extent. Mimicking his older brothers as best as he could.

All this changed when at the age of eleven, Ron was forced to change schools for his last year of primary school when his father transferred to another job.

Here, on the school ground of London's public primary school, Ron's life changed drastically upon meeting another young eleven year-old boy; Harry James Potter. Soon the two were inseparable and declared themselves, best friends for life. During this one last year of primary school and later through secondary school, Ron finally developed his own personality and found his place in life.

It was also during this time that he decided that he would one day become someone. Someone in a position of power and whose opinions mattered. Though he was an easygoing guy and nobody expected anything from him, he adopted an admirable work ethic.

He finally found what he believed to be his true calling in life when he was invited to the home of his best friend. He had been thirteen, still a young boy when he fell in love with the architectural design of his friend's home.

The Potter family was much better off then his own, something which had bothered Ron a great deal in his youth. Harry and the rest of the Potter's had always striven to make him feel at ease in their grand and beautiful home, but there had been moments of slight discomfort.

Their house had been designed and built especially by the family's good friend Remus Lupin. Remus was an in-demand architect and had seen Ron's love and enthusiasm for his profession.

Delighted in discovering someone who was as passionate about buildings as himself, Remus took the young man under his wing. He had heartily paid for Ron's education, a gift Remus assured him he expected to be paid back one day. He was well aware of Ron's troubles with accepting help of any kind, and the Weasleys lack of money.

After his graduation Ron had experienced some trouble getting jobs. He was told his designs were too bold and daring. He was beginning to think his mentor had made a mistake in believing in his talent when Remus had once again come to his rescue. A few years ago Remus had been approached by Draco Malfoy, asking if he could do a job for him. Remus, though he wanted to take the job was unable to do so at the time.

Instead he told the influential entrepreneur about another young man who he thought would be absolutely perfect for the job. Ron Weasley. Today, there were several other buildings in the famed series much alike, and yet always different with its own style and characterisations.

This particular building was the only eight star hotel in existence, constructed by Ronald Weasley and owned by Draco Malfoy, Canine was a hotel where even the richest of people felt the pull of their wallets.

To work at the hotel, even as a maid or a bellboy, was simply an honour. Every single one of the hotel's staff was handpicked by Draco Malfoy's personal assistant herself; the infamous Hermione Granger.

Hermione Jane Granger was born and raised in London. Her parents were both wealthy and had early on recognised her brilliant mind. They had enrolled her in the best of schools and had spoiled her rotten as the only child of a wealthy couple. Ms Granger was one of those people who lived for her job. She breathed it like she breathed oxygen. She worked from early in the morning and far into the evening almost every day.

She rarely took a day off. A true blessing in the eyes of Draco Malfoy.

Therefore it came as an annoyance to him when for the first time ever during her years in his service, Hermione called in sick. One day three months ago, Hermione had caught pneumonia and was being chained to a hospital bed by her friends and loved. Her protests went unheard.

As it was, Hermione was supposed to hire a new receptionist that day, and there were dozens of people applying for the job.

The job as a receptionist was an important position to fill. The receptionist was usually the first person all clients met, and they needed to be smart, pleasant looking, and quick on their feet. They were the face of the Canine hotel.

Draco, not trusting any other than his ever-faithful assistant, decided to do the interviewing himself. He sat through the first three hours patiently, not finding one single suitable person fitting his near impossible criteria. He was forced to suffer through another two hours of dull interviews when she came along.

Marissa Reeds. She was an American woman from southern Texas. She was a fiery redhead, tall and with curves in all the right places. Her face was attractive enough and her Texas drawl was sultry and sexy.

Perfect for the job.

Draco was too pleased with finally finding someone appropriate for the job to notice the slightly crazed look in the woman's eyes.

After getting the job and being hired personally by the Draco Malfoy, Ms Reeds was harbouring a potentially dangerous obsession with her boss. She was convinced he had hired her because he had fallen for her Texas charm, which she told her friends and family. She told them how close they were and how they were likely to get married soon. She spoke with dreamy eyes, how loving he was with her and how she had him securely wrapped around her fingers.

During the three months she had worked there, she had not spoken personally with him again, and had only seen him in passing.

In those few times, he had never acknowledged her.

Still, she would always smile a mega watt smile at him if he was alone, and would scowl unattractively if he was with one of his many conquests.

The last one she had seen him with had particularly bothered her. She had been on the nightshift when they had walked into the lobby, kissing madly, eyes only for each other.

Furious at seeing her love in the arms of another, she had viciously snapped the innocent pencil she'd been holding in two.

Ever since Draco had taken that pretty unknown man with him to the hotel, he had surprisingly not been seen with another lover. If the rumours were true, he was looking for the unknown man as well.

Marissa sneered at this.

There was no way her boss was searching, like an eager child on Christmas morning, for that slut she had last seen him with.

She was still at work when the young man had appeared out of the elevator, walking the walk of shame out the front doors. His head held high, like he was somebody special.

She knew better.

She knew he was just one of the many to share the bed of Draco Malfoy.

A small obstacle before he would settle down with her. She came to a simple conclusion that she was likely never to see that whore again, and it was better not to think about him. Instead she indulged herself in her endless fantasies about her boss and her future life with him.

She stood at the front desk, mindless of the things around her, until a subtle cough broke her from her reverie. She looked up, an apology at her tip of her tongue when she was met with the disturbingly familiar face and the startling, intense, green eyes of the man she'd been thinking of.

He was dressed in simple jeans and a plain shirt, looking so out of place in the fancy interior of the hotel lobby she almost smiled.

This was not good.

She needed to get him out of there before somebody recognised him.

She knew letting her boss know he was there would probably settle her with a reward to last her a lifetime.

But why take just a sip when you could have the whole glass.

"May I help you?" she asked scathingly.

The man smiled at her gently, mindless of her poor attitude. He seemed to have a soft glow about him that was just radiating beauty and grace. Her sudden glare deepened as she studied him further. He had cut his hair, she noted. At shoulder length, his hair seemed to curl naturally in soft midnight tresses.

He was wearing glasses and she noticed he had lost some weight around the stomach area too. It wasn't really noticeable, but she was studying him rather intently. Instead of making him seem more ordinary and human, these flaws made him seem even more beautiful and unearthly.

She hated him.

Marissa glowered at him in anger and jealousy, suddenly very self-conscious of her own appearance. She was by no means an ugly woman, or unattractive in any way. But this man seemed to bring out the worst in her.

"Yes, actually." He told her, his voice soft. He looked around a little nervously before returning his attention to Marissa. "I have something for someone. A letter," he confided in her.

He gnawed at his bottom lip as he rummaged through a bag he carried. He gave a little shout of triumph as he finally located the letter and pulled it up from what looked like to be a well-worn bag.

"It's for one of your guests," he said. "I don't know his name, but we shared a night together." He whispered the last part shamefully and was once again looking around nervously, obviously anxious about anyone overhearing.

Marissa stared at him but didn't speak, and after a while he cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "Anyway, I was wondering if there was some way you could contact him for me. He was staying at the top floor suite about four weeks ago," he told her helpfully.

Marissa faked the most apologetic smile she could muster, mentally stabbing the man in her mind.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I can't give out information about our guests. I could lose my job." She told him pleasantly.

"Oh, no! I didn't mean like that," he rushed out. "I was just wondering if there is anyway you have an address or something you could forward this letter to." He asked, dangling the letter in front of her face, in a most irritable manner.

"It's kind of important that he reads this."

Marissa hid her distaste for the man in front of her, under a well-placed smile. Oh, she COULD send the letter to her boss. There was no way she would be doing it.

"Of course, sir. Anything to help."

Another fake smile.

"Top floor you said? Around four weeks ago?" she questioned.

The man nodded at her and handed the letter to Marissa gratefully. "Thank you so much!" he said and smiled at her prettily.

She mumbled a 'no problem' as she watched him walk away, glad to finally be rid of him.

She stared at the letter distastefully for a minute before walking determinately over to the paper shredder located behind the front desk. She would make sure her boss never laid eyes on that letter, she thought as she watched the paper get shredded beyond recognition in satisfaction.

Had she known that Gregory Goyle, personal lackey to Draco Malfoy, had watched her previous encounter with the pretty stranger, she would have thought twice before shredding that letter. In fact, she wouldn't have shredded it at all.

* * *

As Greg stepped out of the elevator the first thing he saw was the front desk of the lobby and absently watched as a man handed over a letter to the receptionist. By the time he finally recognised the man, infamous among the Malfoy employees, the unknown man had already disappeared through the front doors. As he raced across the lobby to get to the front entrance, he didn't see the receptionist disappearing behind the front desk.

Nor did he see her shred the letter and then take out the trash to be picked up by the collection workers in less then five minutes. Spending fifteen minutes frantically searching for the green-eyed man, Greg was forced to admit defeat and trudged as dejectedly as a man his size and appearance could be, back inside the hotel.

He would have to inform his boss about this, he thought gloomily. Not looking forward to the scorching heat of his boss' fury.

* * *

As Harry walked back outside on the steps of the hotel, he took a deep calming breath. God, he had never been so mortified before. The look dubious look on the of the receptionist's face... When Harry had told her about his previous stay at the hotel, he had never felt so ashamed. Facing the woman behind the front desk had nearly been worse than gathering the courage to write the letter informing his nameless lover of how their one-night tryst had led to a pregnancy.

He was known among his friends and family for his brave and courageous qualities, sometimes, however, those merits often clashed with another quirk of his personality, his shyness.

Harry had been seated at his kitchen table for several hours the previous day, nervously biting his pencil as he contemplated what to write in the letter. In the process of finding the right words to describe his current situation and his feelings about his pregnancy, Harry effectively ruined several sheets of paper by furiously erasing letters upon letters, crumpling the sheets of paper into little balls within his fist.

He wracked his brain for all possible ways to let this man he did not know, that he was about to become a father. He tried several different approaches. He tried the short, straightforward way, but wasn't very satisfied. Then he tried the long-winded letter where he didn't really say anything of importance but subtly hinted at his pregnancy.

Harry found that didn't sit well with him either.

After several desperate hours ticking by and his mind starting to borderline insanity, Harry finally managed to write a letter he thought would come off as tasteful and classy.

Harry shook his head, his freshly cut hair flailing around his head as he thought about the dreaded letter. Now all he could do was hope that he would get an answer from the stranger, he thought as he hailed a cab.

He wasn't really counting on it, it had just been a stupid one-night stand after all.

Thinking about how his unborn child was likely to grow up without a father hurt Harry more than he'd like to admit, and he found himself wanting to get as far away from the fancy hotel as fast as possible. Hotel Canine was obviously a rich man's hotel, and frankly it was making Harry feel slightly uncomfortable.

Successfully having caught the attention of a taxi, Harry gingerly sat down in the backseat of the taxi, his swollen feet aching from all the walking he'd been doing that morning. Harry rested a hand on his stomach, frowning slightly at the weight he had lost. Morning sickness had been pretty harsh on him the last couple of days or so. Now he watched the hotel and the large letters pronouncing Canine as the car pulled away from the sidewalk and drove off. It really was a nice hotel and he wondered what kind of man his unknown lover was.

Obviously rich enough to stay at Canine.

Harry didn't really pay much attention to the real world, preferring to stay inside his safe bubble of friends and family after the life he had led, but he knew that you needed to be someone to get a room at the Canine. Or at least that was what his best friend Ron kept telling him.

Ron was an architect and Canine had been his first project ever. Something he was immensely proud of. Thinking of his good friend now, Harry was painfully reminded that he still needed to tell Ron, as well as a few other people about his pregnancy.

As if telling his father hadn't been painful enough, he thought, closing his eyes tiredly,he remembering the episode.

Letting his father now he was pregnant was one thing, letting him know he didn't know who the baby's father was, was a whole different thing entirely. Harry had never seen his father so furious before and had been horrified as his father made him tell how the whole thing even happened.

In detail.

Telling James how it all went down after his friends, Seamus, Dean and Neville had dragged him out on his birthday, hadn't helped at all.

James had spent a good hour cursing and raging about how he had failed as a father and had forbidden Harry from seeing his sneaky three friends again.

Harry shook his head at that ridiculous thought.

As if he'd ever freeze out his friends.

He fished up his cell phone from his bag and dialled Ron's number.

"Hello," the voice was crisp and rushed.

"Ron?" Harry said tentatively. "Are you okay?" Harry could hear his friend curse over the phone.

"Shit. Harry I'm really sorry, but I don't have time to talk right now. I didn't mean to sound so snippy," Ron told him apologetically and Harry could envision his friend scratching the back of his head, a regular gesture of his.

"It's okay," Harry told him, his soft voice soothing his friend.

"It's just that I'm in a meeting with my boss right now and he just got some, what should I call it, upsetting news," Ron whispered into the phone, clearly not wanting to upset his boss any further. Harry laughed as he heard what had to be Ron's boss curse and yell at some poor soul for doing something displeasing.

Harry could practically see Ron cringe at a particular loud curse. "How about we meet later for lunch? I have something I really need to tell you. I'll invite Hermione along, too." Harry spoke, thinking about their other best friend.

Hermione Granger was a very busy woman, but she would often make time for her two close friends during her insane working schedule. Because of her many working hours and overall diligent work, her boss allowed her to spend some time on her personal life during office hours.

"No need, Harry. She's here now," Ron said, looking over the table were he was seated, somewhat hiding the fact that he was having a conversation on the phone while locking eyes with the woman in question. They smiled at each other through the ruckus of their boss.

Ron's gaze shifted over to Goyle, watching the big man practically grovel at their fearful boss' feet.

Poor bastard.

"I'll tell her when the boss has cooled down some. What time were you thinking?" he questioned, rolling his eyes as Draco's ranting and curing finally came to an end and Goyle just about ran out of the room.

"Well, it's ten past eleven right now, how about one o'clock at Eden's?"

"Yeah, that's fine. Listen Harry, I really got to go now; I'll see you later, okay?" The line went dead, and Harry stared at it amused, glad he himself didn't need to start working until a few more days.

"That'll be 12.50 pounds." The voice of the taxi driver let Harry know he had reached his destination.

He paid the man and stepped out of the car. As he walked towards his childhood home, he mentally prepared himself to face his father again. His dad had to understand sometime that Harry was no longer a child, and Harry figured now was as good time as any. He absently prayed that his mother was home and his brothers weren't.

His father would be much more agreeable then.

* * *

Still at a meeting with his boss, Ron snapped shut his phone and hurriedly hid it inside his pocket. The murderous intent he could feel coming from his boss was not good.

Not good at all.

Ever since his boss had a one-night stand with some stranger he'd forgotten to get the name of, he'd been like a ticking bomb, set off by the slightest things. It made work complicated, to say the least.

"God dammit! I'm surrounded by idiots," Draco Malfoy sneered. He couldn't believe it. His lover had been there, the exact same place Draco was now. He had delivered a letter at the front desk that could have very well contained important information. There could have been a name. And a name would have been vital after the search for one Dean Thomas had failed. And that bitch of a woman had sent him away. This was the second time his minx had disappeared on him, and it was starting to vex him something terribly. It even affected his work now.

"That woman is going down!" he growled viciously. The brandy glass in his hand breaking under the pressure of his forceful hold.

He didn't even notice the blood that now flowed down his hand as he thought about Canine's former receptionist.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the many assistants who fawned over their enraged tyrant of a boss. It disappointed her that her boss had lost his cool over a mere sleeping partner, while at the same time it pleased her to see that even the great Draco Malfoy was human.

She cared about her boss, she really did. She knew he really didn't have any friends except Blaise Zabini, preferring his work and random lovers to other people.

Draco was a good man at heart. She was certain of that. His priorities were just messed up, and Hermione was convinced that with the right person, Draco could settle down and maybe start a family.

Hermione had first met Draco in high school. She had been a real bitch back then. A, rude, rich, know it all who thought she was better than everybody else. This opinion was shared by the crowd she hung out with, especially Draco Malfoy.

They had been what you'd call friends once. But despite the fact that she was not a people person, she didn't care very much for where she was headed. A life with mere acquaintances in whom she could never confide, lest she wanted to be backstabbed. It was a life of solitude she did not wish for. She broke away from the crowd with the help of a young man, Harry Potter. She met him in a book shop when she was twenty-one and he, seventeen.

Maybe she should set Draco up with Harry. They'd look good together, Hermione imagined, and Harry would definitely be good for her boss. But she didn't want to risk exposing Harry to Draco should they not hit it off. Frankly, her boss could be a bit of a bitch himself, and that was not something she wanted Harry to suffer through.

It was weird for her thinking about this, hooking someone up.

Hermione was about as anti marriage and children as you got. She hated children with a passion. She found them annoying and inferior, like she did any person who had trouble holding a decent conversation.

Hermione wasn't really a people person, something that didn't bother her at all. But she, too, got lonely sometimes, and she really loved her two best friends, Ron and Harry. Everyone else, she had to force herself to tolerate.

As the personal assistant of Draco Malfoy, she was an attractive woman and one of the most powerful ladies in Britain. It was her job to make sure things didn't go wrong, and if they did, she was expected to make them right before any damaged had been done.

"Don't stress about it," she spoke, unconcernedly to her boss. "We'll bury her alive. She'll be toast when we're done with her," Hermione said easily as if talking about the weather.

"I already have a legal team on it right now."

Hermione, always one to be unaffected by work, actually felt sorry for the little bitch.

The woman should have known better than to destroy Draco Malfoy's personal mail. Especially when she knew the mail came from someone the man was actively looking for. The minute she shredded that letter, she had dug her own personal grave.

Though, she found this whole ordeal ridiculous and very unprofessional, Hermione had to admit that she was curious about the contents of that letter.

Draco nodded at her absently; nursing his bleeding hand and batting away the many annoying people fussing over him, grateful for his brilliant assistant. He'd have to remember to give her a nice, little bonus for a job well done soon.

"Good." He declared forcefully, turning his steely, grey eyes at Ron. "Now, Weasley what's the status on the Titan project?"


	7. Chapter 7

**_Chapter Seven_**

Alluring.

Attractive.

Appealing.

The list of adjectives could go on and on…And that was just the ones that began with 'A.'

No matter how many words he could think of, he would never be quite able to find one that could truly describe the creature he watched.

No words in existence would ever do his Angel justice.

The man smiled, momentarily distracted from his intense stare. _His_ Angel. _His_.

'Focus.

Do not lose focus.

I must focus.'

The time would come when he could truly say that his Angel, Harry Potter was his. What a time it would be. The man had it all planned out. Down to the last detail. Had been planning it for years. Now, as he stood in an alley opposite Eden's, securely hidden from all onlookers amongst the dark shadows, he watched his Harry.

He was seated at one of the tables, enjoying the sun whilst reading a book as waited for his friends. He looked stunning as ever. His newly cut hair pulled back in a loose knot, a few stubborn curls framing the man's lovely face. He was pouting, full red lips jutting out in displeasure. It was something he tended to do when the story of his books didn't go the way he wanted to.

The man smiled. He loved how he had come to know his precious so well.

The man watched as Harry put away his book and leaned back in his chair to wait for his friends. Harry Potter never dined in public alone. His father had made him promise so a long time ago, the man knew.

The man knew a lot about Harry Potter.

Knew about his family, his friends.

His baby.

Now that little tidbit of information did not sit well with him. It didn't sit well with him at all. It ruined everything. Ruined all his plans.

Harry was not supposed to lose his virginity yet. Not yet. He wasn't ready.

And that man, that _infuriating_ blond man had gotten to his lovely before him. The man growled softly in his anger, recalling the night of Harry's birthday. It had been the perfect opportunity to get close to him. Watching him dance on the dance floor of Fantasia had been the single most arousing sight the man had experienced all his life.

But when he had tried getting close to his pretty Angel, he had been roughly pushed out of the way by that _man_. That blond man who had looked big enough to pummel him to the ground.

He'd been forced to watch as that man had danced with _his_ Angel. His!

He didn't think he'd ever been so furious before. He'd tried to stop them. He really had. But he had lost them in traffic. And now Harry was with child.

If only he had waited. Just a little while. If only Harry could have waited a few months, he would have gotten the credit as the man to whom Harry James Potter lost his virginity.

Still, he knew that it had not been planned, that it had been so out of character for the youngest Potter, that he was willing to forgive his sweet Harry.

He'd been forced to rewrite his grand scheme. Been forced to include a baby in his calculations. If he did anything to hurt his Angel's baby, he knew Harry would never forgive him. So he had changed his plans. He would be the baby's father. As long as it was his Harry's baby, imagining himself as the baby's father would be easy. At least it would be after a while.

There would be time to work out all the details later. For now he was content with just watching. Setbacks were to be expected with a baby on the way.

His time would come soon enough, as long as he kept his focus. As long as he didn't mess up.

The man picked up the camera that hung from around his neck. It was a professional camera, the tool of a real photographer. He looked through the lense, zooming in on his unknowing model.

His Angel.

He snapped a few pictures for his large collection of photographs. He had pictures of his target that spanned out for more than three years. Yes, his collection was a large one, indeed.

But a few more hundred pictures wouldn't hurt. Not by a long shot. The more, the better.

The photographs had been an endless source of fantasy for him. He had spent countless hours, day and nights, looking at the pictures of his lovely. He would stare at them and jerk off, imagining Harry's small hands on his rod.

The man could feel himself becoming hot just thinking about it. His pants were suddenly becoming tight, and he knew he could wank right there, hidden by shadows inside the narrow alley. He'd never taken care of his needs by looking at the real Harry. Only ever used the pictures. He wasn't completely sure why he hadn't done so before, after all he had had plenty of opportunities during the last three years.

All he needed to do was to open his pants and slip a hand inside. No one would see him. No one would ever know, least of all his lovely.

He found himself lacking the strength of will to deny himself the pleasure of jerking off to watching Harry in real life. He felt slightly guilty by indulging in his sinful needs, like David from the bible did, watching Batseba, the wife of Uria take a bath.

The man grew even harder at the comparison of the biblical story. In his mind he justified his sins as God's will. His insanity provided all the right reasons, all the excuse he needed to covet his Angel like he did. After all, it was biblical.

For a catholic like himself, he felt there was no other way of becoming closer to God.

The man loved the thought of being close to God, nearly more so than the thought of being close to Harry. His lovely.

The man could feel his impending release, could feel it close. Just a few more strokes of his hand as he watched Harry and he would have cum.

Quite abruptly, his vision was blocked and he came watching the back of Ronald Weasley's head, Harry's best friend.

The man panted harshly. Furious as a motorcycle drove by noisily, providing excellent cover as he screamed out in anger, his voice lost in the drones of the roaring bike.

* * *

Harry smiled joyfully at his best friends when they joined him nearly half an hour later than scheduled.

"There you are. I've been waiting for ages," he told them, a smile playing at his lips. He lowered his voice to a near whisper. "I think the waitress was just about to throw me out if I didn't order anything soon."

Ron laughed loudly, his blue eyes shining in mirth.

"You could have just ordered something, you know."

"If you two are quite done maybe we could get around to ordering right now?" Hermione, the last one of their party of three, cut in.

"Getting right down to it like always, huh?" Harry wondered as he tilted his head to the side, studying his friend. She looked tired.

"Yeah well, we just got out of the meeting from hell," she grumbled out, annoyed. "I swear if the boss' little temper tantrum continue, I'm going to quit my job!"

Ron and Harry shared a look, knowing their friend would sooner kill herself than quit her job.

"Whatever you say, Mione," Ron grinned. "So what's been going on with you, mate? I haven't spoken to you in like two or three weeks."

Harry bit his lip, avoiding his friend's questioning glance. He thanked the waitress for his food, and dug into his salad, wondering how to break the news to his two best friends. Ron would be mostly okay with it, he thought, but Hermione was another matter. She hated kids with a burning passion. Every time they were out together she would scowl and glare at the children in her path. She just did not like kids.

Harry had lost track of all the times someone they knew had gotten a child and Hermione had wished the happy couples a happy hell for the next 18 years. Harry cringed, already anticipating the woman's reaction to his news. He'd imagine she'd take it worse than his brothers, who had all cornered him at his parents house earlier that day, demanding all useful information Harry might have on the father of his child. Apparently they didn't buy the story of Harry not knowing who the father really was. They thought he was covering for someone.

Possibly Ron. Harry noted to himself that he needed to remember to warn his friend to stay away from his brothers for a while.

"Come on, Harry. You can tell us."

"It's not like we're gonna beat him up."

"Just talk to him, you know, like civilized adults."

"Maybe rough him up a bit."

"It's that Weasley punk, right?"

The extremely creepy grins on his brothers' faces and clenched hands, told Harry they wouldn't be roughing up his lover, JUST A BIT. It would be a whole lot more than that.

"Harry?" Hermione called out to him, waving a hand in front of his face. "Are you still with us?"

Harry looked up from his food, his eyes gleaming secretively behind his glasses.

"I have something to tell you."

Hermione straitened in her chair, pulling a loose strand of hair behind her ear while the food-loving Ron stopped eating. He swallowed his mouthful and quickly took a gulp of his water to wash it down. They didn't speak, just looked at him expectantly.

"Okay, I want you to know I didn't exactly plan this. But it happened anyway, and please don't freak out, okay?" Harry pleaded with them, knowing Ron's flare for the dramatics and Hermione's pure distaste for kids.

"I'm pregnant."

The silence following was long and awkward, and then suddenly Ron's chair tipped over and he fell in a dead faint. Hermione continued to stare at Harry, unconcerned by the many guests and workers of Eden's fawning over her unconscious friend.

"You're pregnant!" she stated her question. "How could you do this to me? I hate kids! This is going to change everything!"

If the situation wasn't so messed up already, Harry would have laughed at the pure distress his friend's voice. The normally stoic Hermione Granger looked about ready to cry, and she was glaring daggers at his stomach, as if blaming it for the situation.

"I didn't even know you had sex." Ron declared amazed as he came around. He stared at Harry's belly in awe and reached out a hand hesitantly. "Can I touch?"

"Please keep your voice down, Ron. And, yes, you can touch, but you wont be able to feel anything, yet.

"So you're keeping this nuisance then." Hermione questioned sourly. Harry smiled at her gently. "Yeah, I am. I know you don't like it Mione, but I love my baby. And besides, this won't change things. We'll still be friends!" Harry told her with conviction, laughing slightly at Ron's wandering hands.

"There really is a baby in there?" he asked wonderingly, and Harry giggled at him, nodding his head.

"Well, who's the father then?" Hermione cut in, already thinking up a speech about how that man wouldn't be able to take away her friend from her. She would fight him tooth and nail.

"Yeah, about that," Harry mumbled nervously. "It was kind of a one-night stand."

Hermione stared at him gob smacked while Ron dutifully passed out again. Harry winced as Ron hit the painfully hard concrete ground. 'That's gonna bruise,' he thought.

"You had a one-night stand?" Hermione questioned incredulously. Then to Harry's surprise, she suddenly smiled. "Well this thing might not be so bad after all." She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're absolutely certain there's not a man involved?"

Harry shook his head. He should have known something like a one-night stand would have pleased Hermione. The girl didn't like anything to do with romance and relationships that involved feelings, except of course her friendships with Ron and Harry.

She did enjoy sex. A lot. Nearly every day, in fact.

Harry smiled at the thought, recalling all the times they had gone out for lunch and Hermione had explained in detail her nightly adventures.

"No, there's no man. I don't even know who he his. He took me to a hotel and I bailed first thing in the morning," Harry confided in them. Both Ron and Hermione frowned at the story. It sounded familiar somehow. 'Strange,' Hermione thought absently.

"So you're really having a baby then?"

Harry nodded at her, glad that she seemed to accept it. "Fine," she concluded. "Well, I guess as long as you're the mother, I can at least tolerate the brat." They shared a smile, knowing things would be all right between them.

"So what did your dad say when you told him?" Ron wondered and both him and Hermione leaned in to hear about it.

* * *

Harry was happily walking down the street, several bags swinging in each hand, his dark curls blowing behind him as he hurried along. He just spent an hour shopping with his friends after their lunch, and Ron, excited at the prospect of becoming an honorary uncle, went a little crazy in the baby department.

Harry was giddy with relief and happiness that at least his friends were accepting of his pregnancy, Ron in particular.

Now if only his dad could feel the same way Harry's life would be nothing short of perfect.

It wasn't so much the fact that James was angry or disappointed in Harry. How could he, when he himself had gotten his future wife knocked up at the age of seventeen? No, it was more the fact that Harry was his little boy and James just wasn't ready to let go yet. Of course the part about not knowing the identity of the baby's father was still a sore point.

To a family man like James, it was a real low blow, and he was already coercing his oldest son into joining him in a little private investigation. Luckily Lily quickly shot down that idea, much to Harry's gratification.

Harry knew there wasn't really much he could do about his father's feelings except wait for him to come around to the idea.

That was all he could do for now. Besides, he wasn't too worried. Harry suspected that after the first doctor's appointment (James had promised to come with him), his dad would be more happy about the prospect of becoming a grandfather and forget all about his plan of revenge.

Harry was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he failed to see a man rushing right at him until it was too late. The man bumped hard into Harry's shoulder, making him loose his footing. Harry flailed his arms about, desperately trying to regain his balance but fell anyway. He tipped forward, falling painfully hard on his stomach, unable to reach out with his occupied hands to brace himself.

As he cried out in pain, his first instinct was grabbing his stomach, fearing for his baby.

"Shit!" the man said and rushed to Harry's side. "I am so sorry. Are you okay?" he questioned, his large hands gently helping Harry on his feet. Harry hardly registered the other man, too wrapped up in his fear for his unborn child.

"Oh my God!" Harry kept murmuring over and over, not noticing the strewn out contents of his bags being picked up by the stranger and pushed back into his hands, hardly being spared a single glance by the busy people walking the London streets.

Harry tried to stop the tears, he really did. The pain had already dulled to a slight ache, but he couldn't shake of his terrors and so the waterworks came anyway.

"Oh no, no, no, please don't cry! I don't do very well with crying people. It was just a fall right, nothing big." The man sounded frantic and panicked, letting Harry know he really wasn't good with crying people. Harry would have laughed at the panic shining in the man's eyes if he hadn't been scared out of his wits.

"My baby!" Harry managed to speak loud enough for the man to hear. "Oh my God, my baby!" he cried out chokingly as the man looked around confusedly. "Baby?" he questioned. "Eh, I don't see a baby anywhere…" he trailed of awkwardly, before his eyes zeroed in on Harry's clutching hands across his stomach. "Ah, fuck me, this is bad." The stranger cursed loudly, officially freaking out. "You're pregnant, right?"

Harry found himself unable to do more than nod his head frantically, reduced to a state of distraught sobbing. He couldn't lose his baby. He'd never survive the loss.

"I can't lose my baby." Harry told the stranger, mindless of the shopping bags now being pressed between their bodies as Harry gripped the man's arms, tightly, desperately. "Don't let me lose my baby." He cried, begging the stranger with his tear filled eyes to do something, anything.

"Okay, listen to me. Hey, look at me," the man said, trying to make Harry focus and loosen the tight grip around his now aching arms. "We're gonna get you to a hospital, okay," he told him, leading Harry over to the busy traffic and quickly got a taxi. He gathered Harry's bags in one hand, and gently guided the still crying Harry into the car. "Nearest hospital, please," he ordered as soon as he himself was inside the car.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. I'm sure your baby is just fine. So please stop crying," the man spoke quietly, gently rubbing Harry's tense back to calm him down.

It took a few minutes of awkward silence where the taxi driver kept looking at them in the mirror, but Harry's crying finally subdued into simple sniffles. This seemed to calm the stranger as well.

"I'm sorry you have to go through this," Harry whispered to the man, both hands firmly pressed over his belly. "I don't usually cry so easily, but you know hormones and stuff," Harry confided in the man, taking in his appearance for the first time. He was an attractive man, browned skinned, browned eyed, and brown eyes. Harry quickly classified him as the quintessential Mediterranean man.

"Don't worry about it. No problems. Saving beautiful men such as yourself is part of my agenda this week," he joked, and Harry had to giggle at the lame comment.

"Ah, and so he smiles as well." The man continued, delighted in lifting Harry's spirits. "I'm Blaise. Blaise Zabini," he said and threw a potentially dangerously, charming smile at Harry. Harry gently returned the smile and lifted one hand from his stomach in greeting.

"I'm Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you Blaise Zabini." They smiled at each other and shook hands a little longer than necessary. Harry retreated his hand with a blush, glad to be able to avoid Blaise's intense eyes when the taxi pulled up by the hospital.

"Come on. Let's get you checked out," Blaise said, and grabbed all of Harry's bags again, taking Harry's hand to help him out of the car. Harry waited for him as he watched Blaise jog around to the driver's side to pay the driver.

And as Harry looked at the man slightly hunched down, speaking with the driver, a sudden flash of memory had him groaning out loud. The vision of himself spread out on a big, comfortable bed with a very masculine man above him; blond and tall, thrusting hard into him, brought a blush to Harry's face so strong Harry covered his cheeks with his hands in embarrassment.

The vision in his memory shifted, and suddenly he was in a spacious shower, the blond's arms holding his thighs up, hands clutching Harry's arse with his large cock buried deep inside of him. Harry's legs were wound tight around the other man's waist, his own arms scratching at the man's back, moaning, groaning, and screaming out his wonderful release.

"Hey, you okay?" Blaise questioned him as he walked up to Harry, noticing his flushed face. Harry nodded mutely, too affected by the memory of his lover to speak.

"Okay, let's get you checked out. I'll drive you wherever you want to go afterwards," Blaise told Harry leading the other man towards the entrance of the hospital.

"But you don't have a car," Harry protested absently, mind still reeling with the images of his nameless lover. Blaise grinned at him. "I'm a very rich man," he told him. "I'll just make a call and someone will bring one of my cars here."

"_One_ of your cars, huh?" Harry questioned, throwing a glance at the tall man.

Blaise just grinned at Harry, guiding him inside the hospital.

* * *

Draco stood slightly hunched in battle mode, beating the living crap out of a large boxing bag. He was visualising the _lovely_ Ms. Reeds, though he would never have beaten a woman or a Carrier in real life. That was what fantasies were for, right?

He hit the bag viciously, using all his strength and power.

His muscles were spent, ready for a powerful release with every blow to the bag. The sweat running down his body glistened in the light, attracting more than a few lustful looks from the other people in the gym.

"Well, if you think you could perhaps take the time to quit playing a barbarian like a neanderthal for a few moments, maybe we could talk?" the cutting voice of his beloved godfather had Draco stepping away from the boxing bag. "Sev!" he grinned ferally at the older man. "What brings you here?" he questioned the man. Severus was dressed all in black, as always.

"We were supposed to meet for lunch an hour ago. Instead I find out from one of your many assistants that my godson is at a gym, behaving like an animal by the looks of it," Severus spoke, sneering in disgust at Draco's sweaty form. He'd never been one for physical exertion. "I came here instead, and now I am late for my monthly gathering." He drawled out like only an aristocrat could.

The monthly gathering he referred to was a book club. Though, Severus would never admit to be part of anything so trivial as a book club. Instead he had dubbed his monthly meetings as

Monthly gatherings for the exceptionally intellectual people's common interest in books.

Simply gathering, for short.

It was Severus' sophisticated way of saying he was a hardcore nerd. Draco had nothing against smart people, he himself was nowhere near stupid, but his godfather, much like Hermione, his right hand, were both like walking, talking encyclopaedias.

"Ah, I see."

Draco grabbed a towel and a large water bottle from the ground, taking a large swig of the bottle. "So I suppose you want me to take you to wherever it is your little gathering is, right?" he questioned, shooting his dear godfather a knowing look.

"Well, I am not taking the bus like a simple commoner," the man declared haughtily in disgust.

Draco shot him another knowing look; his godfather wasn't really that much of a snob. He was a rich man, true. But he was a grounded man, grown up in a home of cold and hard discipline.

"You forgot your wallet again, didn't you?" he inquired knowingly. Severus glared at him forcefully. "I did no such thing, I tell you." He plainly ignored Draco's smirking face and spoke. "I'll have you know, that when I left this morning, I was well aware of our lunch plans, though you were not," he added scathingly.

"So I thought it only fair for my very rich godson to treat his old godfather to lunch," the arrogant tones had Draco smirking wide at the other man.

"Therefore, I intentionally left my wallet at home, as I had no real need for it," the man concluded, blatantly ignoring his godson's irritating smirking face.

"Whatever you say, Sev. Whatever you say," Draco told him, heading towards the locker rooms.

"Are you insinuating that I might be lying?" Severus asked him dangerously, and Draco merely laughed at the older man, knowing that to him at least, Severus' bark was worse than his bite.

"So where am I driving you, anyway?" his deep voice questioned, rolling his eyes when some girls nearby swooned as they recognised him.

Severus sneered in disgust at the girls fawning over his godson from afar. "It's in the Kensington area. Lily Potter is hosting this month's gathering."

"Potter Mansion, huh? They have got eight kids or something, right?" Draco wondered absently. Lily Potter was a very good friend of his godfather's, but Draco had never met her or her family, though he knew one of her sons was a pretty decent football player.

"Five." Severus corrected, a little more harshly then he'd meant. He cared a lot for Lily and her family, with the exception of her dreaded husband, of course. God, Severus Snape hated James Potter with a passion. But he had been forced to at least accept the man by Lily's youngest. Harry Potter, Severus knew, could wrap anyone around his little finger with effortless ease.

"Two sets of twins and one more." He elaborated unnecessarily. Draco had already entered the locker room, and Severus could do nothing but shake his head at his busy godson.

'The youth of today,' he thought, unknowing of the future events he had set in motion.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter Eight**_

"Damn, Sev. How many people are part of this book club of yours anyway?" Draco commented as he parked his car in one of the few available parking spaces. There had to be about twelve cars or so littering the entrance of the Potter's mansion. Severus threw him a vicious glare. It would have sent a lesser man crying. Draco, who had grown up around the man, was immune to his many scary looks.

"It is _not_ a book club!" he declared rather vehemently. "It is a Monthly gathering for the exceptionally intellectual people's common interest in books!"

The man tore the car door open with savage force and slammed it shut with a great bang. Knowing he was being both petty and childish, Severus refused to look back at the other man and strode forcefully towards the front doors. Draco was left staring at the place where his godfather had just been seated. Then he chuckled slightly. Severus could be so very uptight at times. He was just about to set the car into reverse when something caught his eyes.

"What the hell?" he wondered aloud. "That's one of Blaise's cars," Draco mused to himself, recognising the plate number of the new Nimbus 2000. It was an incredible car, one of the newest designs, a Malfoy production, of course. Draco himself was driving a luxurious Firebolt V2.

Calmly turning of the motor, Draco stepped out of the car. There was no way Blaise was part of Severus' little book club. Severus and Blaise despised each other and Blaise just didn't enjoy reading, unless it was perverted magazines. Draco had to grin slightly at the thought of his friends large collection of Whopping Willow, a 'fashion' magazine where there were models showing more skin then clothes, and in very provocative poses.

Almost immediately upon ringing the doorbell, the door was opened by a man in his early fifties. The man greeted him with a deep bow. "Welcome to Potter Mansion. If you follow me I will guide you to where the gathering is."

"No. I'm not here for the book club," Draco interrupted the man. "I'm looking for a good friend of mine, Blaise Zabini."

The man seemed puzzled for a while. "Blaise Zabini, you say. I don't think I know of any Mr Zabini…" the man trailed of awkwardly, seemingly not pleased with his inability to give a proper answer.

"That's his car," Draco said slightly exasperated, gritting his teeth in annoyance while gesturing to the Nimbus. He couldn't stand incompetent people. "He has to be here."

The man turned his stiff posture in the direction of where Draco motioned towards the posh looking car, and he suddenly allowed a slight smile to grace his stern features.

"Ah, yes. Now I remember. You are talking about the young man who brought home young Master Harry. Yes, yes, he is here. I believe he was last seen in the kitchen with the young Master. Shall I guide you there?"

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble," Draco sneered sarcastically, and followed the older man towards what was presumably the kitchen. "Here you are, Sir. Right through that door," the older man gestured to a door which had an old sign; KITCHEN, spelled in childish writing made out of wooded letters.

How plebeian, Draco thought haughtily.

However, all such thoughts disappeared the moment he entered through the door and was greeted by the sight of his best friend kneeling on the floor before a man, talking to said man's stomach, hands covering the flat belly. The man laughed at Blaise's antics, and the melodious sound had Draco snapping his head from the sight of his friend to the man so fast his neck was left aching.

He couldn't believe it. It was his vixen. The beautiful minx that had continued to elude him for the better part of a month now. It was him.

"You," Draco gasped out in disbelief, his usual unmoving facial expression that of one of great incredulity. Both men turned to look at him, shocked at seeing him standing there in the entrance of the Potter Mansion's kitchen.

"Draco," Blaise said, the surprise evident in his voice. "What are you doing here?" he stood from his position on the ground and moved forward to greet his friend. "By the way, where have you been hiding lately? Haven't seen you for a while," Blaise told him as he pulled him into a great man hug. All the while Draco's eyes were firmly locked on the emerald one's of his vixen.

Harry stood up as well, slowly making his way towards Draco, his hand securely over his stomach where he knew his baby was safe.

"Your name is Draco?" he questioned in low tones as Blaise pulled away from his stoic friend. He slowly reached out his hand in a form of greeting. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

Draco, still slightly shocked at finding his missing lover, Harry, his brain provided for him, managed a smirk as he grabbed Harry's smaller hand and raised it to his lips. He placed a gentle kiss at the back of his hand and widened his smirk as he saw Harry's furious blush. "Pleased to make your acquaintance," he drawled out mockingly, all ready knowing him intimately despite the initial lack of name.

Harry's blush spread and he retreated his hand faster than necessary. Blaise eyed the two of them warily. "Did I miss something?" he wondered, looking between them. "Do you know each other?"

Draco was in full 'I'm better than you' mode and smirking for all he was worth, while Harry looked away. He was about to say something else when suddenly Severus burst through the door.

"Harry!" he cried out angrily, his long coat billowing behind him as he stormed towards the younger man. Why he was wearing a coat inside towards the end of August, no one would ever know.

"What is this I hear about you being with child?" he demanded, invading Harry's personal space in his fury. "I knew your father was stupid, but I thought I had managed to rub it off of you years ago. Apparently not!" he declared, seething in his fury. He couldn't believe it when Lily had told him she was about to be a grandmother, and that it was her youngest whom was with child as well.

"Severus, please not now," Harry pleaded with the man whom he looked at as a second father. Severus sighed heavily, noticing they were not alone and turned to face the others, only to get a real shock.

"Draco, what are you still doing here? And Zabini, what are you doing here at all?" he asked, his voice turning to acid as he glared daggers at Blaise.

Draco ignored his question and zeroed in on Harry, grey eyes cold and stormy. "You're pregnant?" he demanded. "How far along?" he questioned at Harry's nod as he stalked passed his godfather to get to Harry.

"I'll be exactly four weeks along, tomorrow," Harry whispered, biting his lip and looking away from Draco's intense stare.

"Is it mine?" Draco questioned, thoughts reeling furiously.

Harry eyes reluctantly met Draco's, staring at the swirling grey, almost hypnotised by the stormy orbs. There were so many emotions in the man's eyes. Harry thought he might detect eagerness, but it was gone as fast as it came. He wondered how he would react. Knowing for sure that he was about to be a father. Would he deny it? Would he deny what they had created together that night?

His hand fell down to his still flat belly. He wouldn't be showing for a while yet.

"Yes."

_Yes_.

Yes.

The word, spoken so softly rang loudly in his ears. To Draco it might as well have been screamed out loud.

Yes.

A three-letter word. So simple, and yet it shook the very foundation of Daco's existence, changing his entire world, forever.

Not only had he found his beautiful lover. But he was about to become a dad.

He was having a baby.

* * *

**_TWO MONTHS LATER..._**

The sweet suckling noise and the innocent, yet sinful moans of delight coming from plump, red lips was enough to crumble the resolve of even the strongest of men. The small red ball going _in_ and _out_, _in_ and _out_ of what looked like a very talented and experienced mouth, had quite a few pants tightening in lustful desire. The throat that seemed to be working overtime by swallowing the juices gradually seeping out from the small, red ball did not help the many onlookers at all.

However, the murderous intent they could suddenly feel coming from the entrance of the fancy restaurant, did help them in managing to drag their greedy eyes away from the exotic beauty sitting by his lonesome.

The source of the rather sudden dangerous atmosphere was the arrival of one Draco Malfoy. He was not pleased, not pleased at all to arrive at a restaurant _he_ owned, only to find that most of the guests, men and women alike, were staring, rather hungrily at that, at his precious minx. Harry Potter was his, dammit!

With his tall imposing figure, broad shoulders and cold, steely grey eyes, most of the guests felt it wise to return to their dinner and company, though some few brave souls still sneaked in a glance every now and then.

Draco couldn't really blame them, he thought, as he made his way over to Harry with long graceful strides. He did look, oh so very enticing after all. His dark hair was pulled back in a loose bun, with a few usual stubborn curly locks framing his face. He was dressed in tight fitting maternity clothes, making Draco's insides swell with pride. That was his child inside the protruding stomach. His.

But then his gaze shifted from the lovely rounded stomach to the offensive treat in Harry's mouth.

The dreaded lollipop.

Draco glared angrily at the offensive candy, getting way more action than he himself was. Draco had never been the jealous type. Being an only child of an extremely rich family, he had always gotten what he wanted. It had always been that way. Now, though, ever since he met the vixen before him, Draco had experienced a great number of different emotions he had never felt before. Jealousy among them. Over a small piece off candy, too. It was simply preposterous.

He figured since he wasn't getting any action, _at all_, he figured he had the right to be slightly upset by the sight of the lollipop being worked over so hard by Harry's teasing mouth.

"Harry."

The sound of his name, drawled out slowly, each syllable being pronounced more then necessary, had Harry's closed eyes flying open and a slight shiver down his back.

He _knew_ that voice.

_Intimately._

"Draco, you're here." He let the lollipop fall from his moth with an audible pop, and stared up at the other man. 'The father of your child,' a voice whispered in his mind, and Harry's hand fell automatically to his stomach which was growing bigger by the day.

"Yes," Draco answered him unnecessarily as he sat down at the table, glaring as the lollipop disappeared back into Harry's mouth. "Must you constantly suckle at those horrid lollipops?" he questioned, mentally flushing Harry's not so secret stash of lollipops down the drain.

"Mhmm," Harry moaned out in affirmative. "They help me with my morning sickness. You know that," Harry told him with a devious smile, very aware of the effect his lollipops were having on Draco. Then suddenly he scowled. "Though, I don't know why they call it morning sickness when it happens all the time!" Harry sulked; annoyed at the nausea he had become accustomed too. The lollipops did help a great deal.

"So, changed your mind yet?" Draco questioned, changing the subject.

Harry shot an irritated look at him. "The answer is still the same as it was yesterday," Harry told him firmly. Draco smirked at him, knowing Harry found it as sexy as he found it infuriating, effectively hiding the slight hurt he felt at the answer.

"How many times are you going to turn me down before you agree to marry me?" he wondered out loud, ignoring Harry's slightly guilty look.

"Draco," Harry began. "We've been over this. I don't want to marry because of the baby. I want to really get to know you. To find out what makes you tick." The tentative voice and the suspicious glistening in Harry's eyes had Draco smiling a real smile and reaching over to take Harry's hand in his.

"Hey, no need to get all teary-eyed over it. You need time. I'm fine with that," Draco told him gently. "I'll wait until the day when you finally realise that although I love our son, this is between the two of us," Draco said, his free hand gesturing to their joint hands, finger gently intertwined.

Harry smiled back at him, furiously blinking his tears away. He was always crying for something or another these days, something his little students found extremely amusing, Harry recalled fondly. Already attached to his little hellions, as he liked to refer to them.

"The baby aside, I don't get why you're so eager to marry me anyway. It's a big commitment, you know, and besides, you hardly know me." The confusion and wonder Draco could hear in Harry's voice tore at his heart. He knew Harry felt something for him and he sure as hell felt something for Harry. Draco was certain it was love, but Harry wouldn't hear of it. He thought the only reason Draco was so adamant to be with Harry was because of their baby. No matter what he did, it seemed as if Harry was unable to accept that what Draco felt for him was real, was true.

Which was why they had come to the agreement of getting to know each other, slowly.

Much too slowly in Draco's eyes.

If he had gotten his wish, Harry would be living with him, permanently, preferably as his wife. But there was the small matter of Harry's insecurities, and his FAMILY.

Draco was a hard man to scare, or even trouble, but damn, Harry's brothers were _scary_. Not to mention the younger man's father. If there ever was a man Draco respected or feared more than any other, it had to be James Potter.

That man was fierce.

Though, Draco would never, not even under torture, admit to that fact.

Draco shuddered, just thinking about it. With the exception of Harry, Draco had never tried to please someone more than James Potter. But Draco was determined to make James like him, or at least tolerate him. Whether the man liked it or not, Draco would marry his son sooner or later. Just as soon as Harry came to terms with their strange relationship and their feelings for each other.

"Harry, I'm absolutely thrilled about the pregnancy, but my feelings for you have nothing to do with the baby," Draco told him gently, his thumb stroking Harry's soft skin as Harry nodded along with his words. Draco had made it very clear how pleased he was about the baby. It still made Harry smile, thinking about the day Draco had unexpectedly showed up at his parents house, with none other than Severus Snape, one of Harry's honorary uncles.

"I already felt strongly about you before I knew you were pregnant. I had an entire search team after you, for fuck's sake!" Draco exclaimed, suddenly a little annoyed at his unsuccessful attempts of wooing Harry. It seemed as if he was getting nowhere sometimes, but Draco found he had the patience of a saint when it came to Harry. He would make him his, it would just take some time.

"Draco," Harry admonished him. "You should watch your language."

Draco quenched down his bubbling frustration and smirked at Harry. The other man was probably the only person who could _scold_ Draco Malfoy and get away with it. Actually, Harry was the only person to do a lot of things regarding Draco Malfoy and get away with it.

Like making him fall in love.

A small part of his brain was grossly disgusted by the sickening romantic thoughts and feelings he seemed to be having whenever Harry was around, but Draco was easily lowering his pride for the other man. He was worth it.

They continued their meal, talking about different things and getting to know each other slowly. Draco continued to drop hints about his ever-growing affection for Harry while throwing around his scowling glares, left and right. He found that too many were as enticed about Harry's beauty as he himself was. Harry, for his part, remained oblivious about the many hungry stares sent his way, and subtly tried to ignore Draco's words or actions of anything that resembled romantic notions.

He was so very afraid of getting hurt. Of giving out his heart only to have it being broken by the man in front of him. Harry wasn't blind. Draco Malfoy had the looks of a God, and the money to back him up. He could have anyone. Why should he settle for boring, dull Harry Potter? The baby was the only reason Harry could come up with. So he distanced himself from the other man as much as he could, though Draco made it hard. Lately it seemed as if he was always around, asking about the pregnancy, asking about him, about his family and his friends. He was really trying, it seemed. Sometimes, in his dreams, Harry saw himself accepting Draco more easily into his life, saw himself inside the warm protective hold of Draco Malfoy's arms.

But then he remembered all of the man's previous lovers. All of them dropped for someone else, someone better as soon as they came along.

"Harry," Draco called him. "Are you okay?"

Harry looked up from his plate where he was pushing his food around. He met Draco's stormy, grey eyes with his own startling, emerald ones and smiled shakily at him.

Dammit. Draco was affecting him more than he thought.

"I'm fine," Harry managed, but didn't think he sounded very sincere as Draco didn't look very convinced. Harry was grateful when he let it go in stead of pushing him.

"What do you say we have our dessert at my place?" Draco's deep voice drawled out in that sexy, annoying way of his. Harry looked at him, startled. Dessert?

"Draco," he said uncertainly, knowing dessert could be translated into a little more than just food. A lot more.

"Oh, come on, beautiful. Its just dessert. I have that chocolate cake you like so much in my fridge. It'll reach its expiration date if it doesn't get eaten soon," Draco told him convincingly.

Harry looked at him sceptically, but found he was unable to turn down Draco's sexy smile, and stormy eyes.

"I guess dessert would be all right," he said gently as he stood up, gracefully accepting Draco's arm as they walked out of the restaurant. Somehow, Harry didn't think it would be _just_ dessert. At this point he didn't care. Draco was affecting him too strongly, and besides Hermione had lots and lots of meaningless sex with the same person all the time. He could do that too, right?

One look at Draco's powerful body and the air of commanding authority constantly surrounding him, told Harry that he would not be able to have lots and lots of meaningless sex with Draco.

Harry let a hand fall to his stomach and gently rubbed at the telltale bump. A habit he had developed since he learned of his pregnancy. "Everything okay?" Draco questioned as he noticed Harry's hand on his belly.

Harry smiled brilliantly at Draco, nodding an affirmative to his worried question, asked in such gentle tones from the business tycoon.

Harry knew for sure then, that all sex with Draco would be quite the opposite of meaningless.

"Everything's fine," Harry mumbled and quite willingly leaned into Draco's side, letting the man put his strong arms around him. Harry closed his eyes, basking in the warmth coming from the other man as he ignored the scene of London's nightlife as the car made it's way to Draco's penthouse. "Hey, don't fall asleep on me now," Draco told him gently, kissing the top of his head.

"I'm not sleeping," Harry answered, eyes remaining closed. "I was just thinking about the day we met for the second time. Do you remember? It was the same day I met Blaise."

Draco suppressed a growl at the thought of his best friend. They had recently gotten back on good terms after the whole fiasco of Blaise trying to worm his way into Harry's heart and bed. When Draco found out he had not taken it lightly, and they'd been fighting ever since. Harry was the one to make them get their act together, lest they wanted him out of their lives. Of course the threat of losing Harry so soon after having found him was enough for Draco to swallow his pride and stop the ongoing alienation of his best friend.

Still, the memory of seeing Blaise with his hands on Harry's stomach, covering _his_ child, brought the fury and anger swimming fast towards the surface. He could still remember the day so vividly, it was as if it happened just yesterday.

"Mr Malfoy, we're at the penthouse, Sir."

The gruff voice of Gregory Goyle, his driver, brought him out of his thoughts. He looked down to his side where Harry had fallen asleep after all. He looked so angelic lying there, his head resting on Draco's shoulder. Draco would have been content to sit like that for the rest of the night, but they needed to get inside.

"Hey, beautiful. Come on. We're here," Draco whispered, nudging Harry gently.

Harry moaned slightly and rubbed at his eyes, tiredly.

Draco grinned at the cute picture the younger man made, and helped him out of the car.

"I don't think we'll be having desert after all," Draco told him teasingly as they made their way into the large, spacious penthouse. "Hmm," Harry commented in agreement, practically swaying on his feet. He was always so tired lately, a side affect of the pregnancy and his previous poor health his doctor had told him at their last meeting.

Harry smiled thinking about it. They had gone to his first ultrasound a couple of days ago. He walked over to the fridge and grabbed the single picture that was taped to the surface. He stroked his fingers softly over the image and leaned back in Draco's arms as the man embraced him from behind.

"Amazing, isn't it? I can't wait till or next session. Dr Diggory said we might be able to hear the baby's heartbeat," Harry said, excited at the prospect of their next session as Draco nodded, pressing his lips in a gentle kiss to the nook of Harry's neck. "He's perfect, our baby that is," Draco declared, carefully hiding his disdain for one Dr Diggory. Draco didn't like him one bit. He was after Harry, even though Harry had made it clear that he, Draco, as the baby's father was still very much involved in his life.

"But your not together, right?" the man had questioned them, smiling at Harry charmingly. Harry had blushed sweetly, looking briefly at Draco before agreeing quietly to the question. "Not officially, no."

Draco had scowled at the doctor, silently thinking up all the ways he could kill Cedric Diggory and all the places he could hide the body. If only the other man wasn't the absolute best at what he did. If only he hadn't been the best friend of Harry's brother, William.

William had made it clear on more than one occasion that he thought someone else would be better suited to be with his youngest brother.

Preferably someone who hadn't taken his virginity and knocked him up.

So did the rest of Harry's brother, and over the course of the last two months they had introduced him to several of their friends.

Where William had set them up with the renowned obstetrician; Cedric Diggory, Harry's oldest brother Eric had come home one day with his police partner in tow.

Viktor Krum, was another name Draco had since come to despise.

Jack, the oldest of the identical twins had dragged them along on one of his games against Chelsea where he had introduced a team player of his; Oliver Wood.

George Lucas, whom Draco had come to learn was truly the drama queen of the Potter family, had dragged them around on various movie premieres, introducing arrogant and obnoxious actors left and right.

Draco could honestly care less about what Harry's brothers thought of him, as long as Harry accepted him. Besides, Draco was incredibly proud of his accomplishments in regards to Harry.

No matter what happened, Draco could always claim the title of being Harry's first, and being the father of his baby.

But Draco was nothing if not a patient man. He waited through all of Harry's suitors patiently. Meanwhile doing everything he could to keep Harry's attention solely on him. To be honest it wasn't very hard.

Though he had refused his proposal several times, Draco knew the man had feelings for him. He would just have to continue being patient. He could already feel Harry's resolve crumbling.

Harry carefully put the sonogram of their unborn back on the fridge and turned to look up at the taller man.

"We don't know if it's a boy or a girl yet, Draco," Harry told him, not wanting the man to get to attached to the idea of having a boy should it turn out to be a little girl. Not that it would matter, Draco would love their child regardless, Harry knew. For some reason the tycoon was certain that the baby was a boy and kept referring to the baby as a boy.

"Pfft," Draco sniffed in that arrogant way of his, eyes glinting with amusement. "It's a boy, you'll see," he said as he dragged Harry towards the bedroom. "Now let's get you to bed, you need some sleep."

"No funny business, Draco," Harry told him firmly as he was dragged gently by the wrist into the large bedroom. Draco snickered at Harry's choice of words.

"Sure, love. I promise there will be no funny business."

"Good," Harry said, letting himself relax as he shed his clothes and changed into one of Draco's large T-shirts. Draco's shirts worked perfectly as nightwear for Harry. They were so big they covered his thighs and usually fell off of one shoulder. Draco loved seeing him in them.

Draco eyed Harry's form hungrily, dressed down to his boxers. "Well, now that you've made your feelings about funny business clear, how do you feel about sex?"

He laughed aloud at Harry's outrageous expression and ducked as a pillow was flung at him.

Outside the penthouse, down by the pavement, a man stood under the glaring light of the streetlamp. He held a camera in his hands, trained upwards towards the window where the light was just turned off. Several people passed him by, but none paid him any attention. To them he was just one of the many strange people of the London scene who came out at night.

He was pleased. He'd gotten some good pictures tonight. Despite his initial anger, even he had to admit that his angel looked good. Pregnancy suited him apparently. He fished up a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and put a cancer stick in his mouth. He Inhaled deeply to calm his excited nerves. He mustn't lose focus. There was still much to do. Soon, his time would come. His angel would be his.

He grinned, stomping the cigarette to the ground, stepping on it with his foot, much like he wished he could do to that horrid man his angel was with.

Soon.

Very soon.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Chapter Nine**_

Chaos.

Absolute chaos.

One couldn't look anywhere without being greeted by the sight of pink ballons. Big and small, all shaped like hearts. There were several baskets of fruits littering any available surface, with sweets in the form of cakes, muffins and lollipops strategically placed in one corner of the room, ready to bombard the many unsuspecting victims of the Potter household. Flowers of all kinds seemed to be everywhere while a gigantic pile of wrapped gifts were stacked against one of the walls of the room, precariously close to toppling over.

Dozens of people were running around like mad, trying desperately to get everything in order before the guests, and the guest of honour, arrived.

The occasion of this crazy event was that of Harry Potter's baby shower.

Luna Lovegood, one of the few souls in the room who was decidedly _not_ running around like a headless chicken, sat merrily on the floor in one of the few available spots, wrapping her gift for her friend in wrapping paper decorated by large mean looking skulls and little devils with their ever faithful pitchforks.

Seamus, who had just spent the last thirty minutes desperately dodging one pissed of James Potter, sat down next to her heavily, crushing one of the smaller fruit baskets under his weight. "Oops!" he grinned cheekily, and Luna smiled at him dreamily like she so often did. "Luna, pretty Luna! Will you hide me from the clutches of Mr P? I think I might have done something to upset the poor old man…" Seamus said dramatically, and then snickered at his own actions before taking a quick look around to make sure said poor man was not closing in on him.

"Of course," Luna answered him. Then she turned thoughtful as she looked up from her gift. "But I don't know how much protection I can provide," she told him, trapping Seamus in place with her liquid-like eyes. Seamus shifted uncomfortably. "Eh, that's alright, Luna. I'm sure you'll do what you can."

Luna blinked before going back to her gift wrapping. "No I won't," she said simply in her dreamy voice, and Seamus found it would be in his best interest to move to another location.

Uhm, I think I'll just go…yeah, I'll just move over here and…" Seamus got up as fast as he could and went to track down his two missing companions. He had to deal with a lot of creepy and dangerous people in his profession, and it usually took a lot to irk him, but Luna scared the shit out of him. He didn't understand how Harry could be such good friends with the girl.

But then again, Harry was friends with him so who was he to talk?

Seamus had to smile at the thought of his close friend. Who would have thought sweet, darling Harry was growing up, and so fast too! Well not him, and definitely not Mr Potter, Seamus thought as he looked around warily, hiding amongst the people bustling about the room. It wouldn't do to be caught by the other man now.

He didn't know exactly what James would do to him, to them really, if he caught them, but Seamus had a pretty clear idea. After all, James blamed the pregnancy of his youngest on the three of them. There was only one person he blamed more than them.

Seamus couldn't help but snicker at the memory of Harry telling him how his father had reacted to the news of who it had been to impregnate his little boy.

"What are you laughing about?"

Seamus looked sideways and was greeted with the sight of his friends. "Dean! Neville! Old dogs! Where have you been hiding?" Seamus exclaimed, looking at them intently. "No really," he countinued as he saw their amused looks. "Where have you been hiding? Because Mr P just looked this way and is making his way over…" No sooner had Seamus spoken the words beofre the three of them were wisely making their way out of the room as fast as they could. All three of them were daring, but they weren't suicidal and facing James Potter head on meant certain death for sure!

While her husband was barging out of the room like a man on a mission, Lily was happily chatting with Molly Weasley in one corner of the room. The two of them had grown to be close friends over the years. Harry's friendship with Ron putting the Potters in close contact with the Weasleys.

"Oh Harry is just simply going to love this! Don't you think?" Lily questioned the other redhead excitedly, eyes shining madly in her joyful mood. Molly nodded her head vigorously. "I am so excited I can hardly wait! I still can't believe you're going to be a grandmother, and before me!" she mumbled the last part a little jealously.

As far as she knew, none of her children were even in a steady relationship. She wasn't getting any younger and she wanted grandchildren littering the house. It was far too quiet these days. All her children had moved out of the nest and she missed the noise…

"Oh Molly! They're all still young, I bet they'll give you lots of grandchildren soon enough," Lily tried to placate her friend. Molly shook her head in response and dabbed at false tears humorously. "Listen to me ramble! No, this is Harry's day! Does he know the sex yet?" Molly wondered curiously.

Lily shook her head. "They're at the doctors now, Harry said they could find out today if they wanted but he wasn't sure if he wanted to."

Molly cast a glance at her from where she was decorating one of the many cakes. "What about Draco?"

Lily smiled at the question. "He is absolutely certain it's a boy. He's said so from the beginning," Lily explained. "He's such a good man, and he's really good to Harry," Lily said dreamily, thinking of all the times she had observed her son and the father of his child.

Molly looked at her again. "I've been wondering about that. I know he is Ronald's boss and he's worked with Arthur even, but I've never met him. What's he like?" the older woman questioned eagerly. She was embarrassed to admit it, but she had always been somewhat of a gossip.

"Oh! He's wonderful!" Lily gushed to her friend and they both giggled. "He's been taking such good care of Harry, you know. Been catering to my son's every need that man has. I tell you, it's so romantic! It's like watching a man and his bride! Don't let Harry know I said that. He hates being thought of as a bride!" she finished enthusiastically, and they both burst into giggles again, blatantly ignoring the huddle of men behind them glaring daggers at the two of them. Apparently not everybody found the situation as romantic as the women did.

"I can't believe they think this is romantic!" James declared in disgust, growling softly. He'd just missed out on the little pests his son insisted on calling friends, and lost a golden opportunity to vent his ever growing anger. A decidedly bad thing in the long run, James imagined.

"For once you and I agree on one thing, Potter. I cannot believe they would find anything about this situation remotely romantic," Severus said, scowling fiercely at his best friend, but the redheaded woman was skilfully ignoring them all in favour of Molly.

"I thought he would have learned from your early mistakes," Severus continued on, turning his scowl on James and ignoring the insulted "Hey!" from the oldest twins.

"Goddammit! So did I!" James bit out, still not used to the idea of his youngest having a child of his own. Even after knowing of it for nearly four months.

The huddled turned as one and looked at James in shock. "You're actually agreeing with Snivellus?" Sirius gaped at him, avoiding Remus hand to his head and warning; "Behave yourself Sirius. Severus please excuse him," and Severus' own hand, swinging harder then Remus', towards the back of his hand, with the grace and skill of one who'd suffered through several blows to the head over the course of many years in situations just like that one.

James looked at them. "What?" he demanded. "Is it so wrong for me to not be ready for my baby having a baby?"

"It's been four months James, get over it. And Severus, having the twins have never been a mistake." Lily said over her shoulder before turning back to her friend.

Immediately all glares were transferred to her again. They were however, easily ignored.

"Speaking of Harry, shouldn't he be here by now? Everyone else is here I think," Jack's voice filled the grumbling silence as he looked at his father.

James gaze hardened at the question. "The Evil One is probably trying to seduce him again," he muttered, more to himself then his son.

"Really now," an aristocratic voice drawled. "The Evil One is the best you could come up with? I thought you were more inventive than that, dear father-in-law," Draco told him mockingly from where he was standing behind the man-huddle, an arm wrapped firmly around Harry. His hand rested possessively on Harry's growing stomach, clearly marking him out as his possession.

"Harry! Draco!" Lily exclaimed, as chaos broke out once more with everybody trying to talk to the young parents to-be at the same time.

The man-huddle was glaring their best at Draco, and James was muttering to himself. "I am not your father-in-law!"

Meanwhile, the chaos became a bit overwhelming for poor Harry. It sort of reminded him of every time someone found out about his pregnancy or who the father was.

Harry clearly remembered how everyone had acted. Especially his closest friends and family…

* * *

**FLASHBACK**

**_BLAISE, SEVERUS AND JAMES_...**

"Is it mine?" Draco questioned, thoughts reeling furiously. Harry's eyes relucantly met Draco's, staring at the swirling grey. Almost hypnotised by the stormy orbs. There were so many emotions in the man's eyes. Harry thought he might detect a glimmer of eagerness, but it was gone as fast as it came, and it might as well have been a fragment of his imagination.

He wondered how he would react. Knowing for sure that he was about to be a father. Would he deny it? Would he claim he had no part in what they had created together that night? Would he refuse this precious miracle? His hands fell down to his still flat belly. He wouldn't be showing for a while yet.

"Yes."

There was a shocked silence following Harry's answer, and then Blaise was laughing. Though he didn't sound amused at all.

"Yeah, right! Draco being a daddy! Like that would ever happen!" He exclaimed, refusing to believe that Draco was the father of Harry's baby; the gorgeous man he'd just met.

Draco tore his shocked gaze from Harry's green eyes and swivelled round to glare at his best friend.

"What the hell is your problem, Blaise?" he growled out furiously. Blaise stopped laughing long enough to stare at the other man incredulously.

"What my problem is? Come on, mate, you're not exactly daddy material! You switch bed partners more often then you change your socks!"

Draco could see Harry flinch at the other man's words from the corner of his eye, and inwardly winced. He didn't exactly want Harry to look at him like some sort of man-whore.

"Shut up, Blaise! You don't know anything. I haven't slept with anyone ever since Harry," Draco bit out, gritting his teeth viciously. While Blaise and Draco kept going at it, brutally tearing into each others vices and bad habits, Harry trying to no avail to gain some control of the situation, Severus' mind went into overdrive. He looked from his godson to Harry several times as if unable to really comprehend the situation. And then his shock wore of.

In a course of action so out of character for him, Severus Snape stalked up to his godson, drew his right hand back and with the force of his whole body, drove his fist into the side of Draco's face, sending the man crashing to the ground.

"Severus!" Harry gasped out shocked while Blaise was gaping at the older man, slowly inching away from him.

"What the hell, Severus. What was that for?" Draco demanded, rubbing his abused cheek, just knowing it would bruise by morning.

Severus bristled at him. "That was for fucking Harry without protection," he growled at his godson. "Severus!" Harry gasped at his crude wording, and moved over to the fallen man. However, a voice coming from the entrance of the kitchen had him freezing in his tracks.

"What did he just say?" James demanded in a voice barely above a whisper. It happened so quickly; just as Draco got to his feet, a hard body slammed into him. "You bastard! You defiled my son!" James screamed as he punched Draco with all his might.

"Fuck!" Draco yelled out as the other man's fist used his stomach as target. Deciding not to take it lying down, despite the man being Harry's father. He threw a strong hit James' jaw, and watched his head snap back in satisfaction.

"Shit! That hurt you little rapist!" James growled as he dodged the punches coming his way as best as he could. Draco's eyes widened at the accusation and pure rage fuelled his punches.

"I am not a rapist!" he declared, fighting in earnest. "I assure you your son was quite the willing 'victim!' he drawled out with a smug smirk, sounding more in control than he felt as he emphasised the word "victim,". The sarcasm practically dripping of the word.

Harry and James' face both reddened at this, but for two very different reasons.

"Why, you dirty bastard!" James spit out, panting heavily, getting ready to attack again. Draco moved into defensive position, ready for the fight to continue before Harry was suddenly in between them.

"That's enough, daddy!" he said, staring at his father with imploring, green eyes. "Draco is the father of my baby, there is nothing you can do about it, so you better accept it!" he said firmly.

James glared at Draco over Harry's head, narrowing his eyes in anger before he spoke.

"I might have to accept that he is your baby's father, but that doesn't mean I accept HIM."

With those words, James stalked out of the kitchen as best as he could in his beat up condition. The kid sure packed a punch.

Harry sighed and turned to face Draco. "Come with me," he said, grabbing one of Draco's hands and ignoring the bleeding knuckles. He left Severus and Blaise to themselves while he guided Draco through the manor to the bathroom in his personal quarters.

"I'm sorry about Sev and my dad. They tend to overreact when it comes to me," Harry said quietly, scowling a little as he made Draco sit on the toilet lid. "Give me your hand," he ordered the bigger man after having gathered a first-aid kit from one of the cabinets.

Draco studied Harry as he busied himself with his bruised and bleeding body. He truly was beautiful, Draco thought. Even more so then he remembered. His eyes zeroed in on the flat belly and noticed how Harry would sometimes reach down to touch his stomach, a secret smile fluttering at his mouth. Draco suddenly understood what they meant about pregnant people glowing. Harry was simply radiant.

"How long have you known?" he questioned him, staring at Harry intently. Harry looked up from where he held Draco's large hand in his own small one. He blushed as their eyes met directly and quickly went back to the task of cleaning up the beaten knuckles.

"Known what?" he mumbled, avoiding Draco's intense stare.

"About the pregnancy," he rasped out in his husky voice, sending shivers down Harry's spine.

Harry glanced up again. He still couldn't tell whether Draco was pleased about the baby or not. But then again, he didn't really know the man. 'Only his body,' an annoying voice in his head whispered. Harry's blush flared up again at the thought and he shrugged helplessly.

"Nearly three weeks," he said simply. Draco nodded absently, still a little mind boggled by the whole idea.

"I don't mean to insult you or anything, but I have to ask you this," Harry looked at him questioningly, his pretty eyes making him looking so innocent and sweet, Draco had to take a deep breath to stop himself from ravaging the young man in front of him. But he needed to know…

"How do you know for sure I'm the father?"

Draco immediately regretted his words as Harry's eyes widened and filled with slight hurt and he tensed up a bit.

"I'm sorry," Draco said simply. "But what Blaise said before, about me having a lot of bed partners…Well I've been with a lot of people," Draco's voice turned slightly shameful at the look in Harry's eyes. "Let's just say you're not the first one to say I'm the father of their baby."

There was silence as Harry stiffly raised his hands from Draco's now cleaned up knuckles to his face, and Draco knew he was upset.

"Unlike you, I was a virgin until that night," Harry said harshly, a slight reddening in his cheeks as he gently pressed a wet cloth to Draco's cheek. Draco turned shocked eyes to Harry's own.

"You were a virgin?" he questioned in disbelief. 'Oh, God,' he thought, trying to recall the night they'd shared together. How could he not have noticed Harry had been a virgin? Sure, he'd noticed the lack of experience in his kisses and touch, but he hadn't accounted for him being completely inexperienced. 'Dammit.'

Draco's hand closed over the one pressing against his cheek and he grabbed Harry's face with his other one. "I didn't hurt you, did I? When we made love?" he asked, forcing Harry to meet his eyes.

They stared at each other for a moment, trying to read the other's emotion. "No, you didn't hurt me. It was…It was the best it could ever have been for my first time," Harry whispered, voice raw and raspy and for once he wasn't blushing as he held Draco's gaze.

The resulting clash of shining green and swirling grey was like gravity. A magnetic force pulling them towards each other as their faces leaned in so close their lips were almost touching. Draco could feel Harry's warm breath as he whispered back.

"Good…That's very, very good."

And then their mouths were pressed against each other. Lips meeting in a passionate kiss, trying desperately to devour, to ravish and to claim. Anything to quench the greedy hunger that consumed them both, like it had four weeks ago. Like it would continue to do, perhaps for the rest of their lives.

* * *

**_HERMIONE AND RON..._**

Hermione Granger was staring.

She was well aware of this, and yet no matter how much her mind screamed at her to turn around, turn away, she could not bring herself to tear away from the incredible sight before her.

If she hadn't been so completely floored by the scene unfolding before her very eyes, she would have sneered at her own behaviour. It would not do to be caught, like some commoner, to be staring like this, and at her boss no less! But even she had to agree with the whispering in her mind that _this_, she could allow herself to stare at.

She hadn't believed it at first when she had overheard some of the employees gossiping in the common room. Apparently their boss had been sending his personal shoppers on a shopping spree. And what exactly had been on the shopping list?

Clothes and accessorises for babies and Carriers.

The story was so unlikely that Hermione would have sniggered at the pathetic piece of gossip, had they only been worthy of her attention. She was about to leave when she caught another part of their conversation. Draco had arrived at the Malfoy Inc. building nearly an hour before. Not alone, but he'd arrived with a man.

This itself was not very interesting. What WAS interesting was the description of the man and the general behaviour of the two. "Like a couple in love, about to become parents…" Lisa, one of the personal shoppers had told the other avid listeners as if indulging them in a great secret. Hermione hated the girl; she was too loud and cared more for gossiping then work. Hermione had mentally nicknamed her Lady in red, because she always wore a blood red lipstick. It didn't even suit her.

"Mr Malfoy kept touching the man's stomach and they talked a lot, though we couldn't hear what they were saying…" Annabel, one of Lisa's sidekicks, known to Hermione as Lady in pink, was quick to add.

The unusual behaviour didn't mean much to her, but the man's description, the way they talked about his pretty, green eyes and black hair…it had to be Harry. It simply couldn't be anybody else. Well, obviously it could, but Hermione just knew in her gut that it was Harry.

Which meant that Draco was the father of her best friend's baby.

Which meant she wouldn't just have to compete with the brat for her best friend's attention, but her boss as well.

_shit_.

At least she had the advantage of being Harry's best friend. However, Draco was nothing if not persistent. And Hermione knew that this thing he shared with Harry whatever it was, Draco was serious about it. His behaviour the previous weeks told her that.

Shit.

She was too stressed out to think about it. She needed a break to regroup. She needed to get laid so she could relax a bit. 'As soon as work ends,' she promised herself.

So there she was.

Staring.

Had it been someone else in the same position and she had stumbled upon them, they would have gotten a scolding and a piece of her mind. Normally she wouldn't be caught dead staring/spying at her boss, but there was an exception to every rule, right?

She blinked and then continued staring.

She blinked three more times before her mouth dropped open in silent amazement. Something was wrong, she finally decided as she continued to stare at the impossible image before her. Something was very wrong. It was simply illogical. Hermione cared very little for things she could not comprehend.

Draco Malfoy, the cause of her distress, was unaware of her blatant staring and continued speaking with what she had already discovered was her best friend.

Hermione continued her staring and literally took a step back in shock when her boss laughed. _Joyfully._

Hermione was usually a very strict person and rarely showed her true emotions, lest she was in the company of her two closest friends. Still, she concluded that the shiver of fright that traveled down her spine at the sight before her, was the only logical. After all, Draco Malfoy didn't laugh. At least not like this.

It just didn't happen.

Sure, she had seen her boss laugh before. When he was conducting business with someone he cared very little for, he would sometimes give that creepy, sinister laugh when he got his way, scaring his associates half to death.

Never, in all her years as Draco Malfoy's personal assistant, had she ever seen him laugh like this. With complete abandonment and joy.

"What are you doing?"

The sudden words had her shrieking in fright and would have no doubt crashed to the floor if Ron hadn't caught her. The scream alerted their boss of their presence, while their friend remained oblivious. Draco favoured them with a burning glare translating; "Disturb us and die," but otherwise chose to ignore them in favour of his guest.

Hermione straightened up and dusted some invisible dust from her sleek black skirt.

"Nothing in particular. I was just standing near here in case Draco needed me for something," she said, trying to stop the heavy blush from spreading. Ron looked at her and snickered. "Bullshit!" he told her merrily, enjoying her uncharacteristic display of emotion. "You were staring, weren't you?"

Hermione sent him a killer glare, one he would have backed up off immediately a few years ago, but Ron had long since learned that her bark was far worse then her bite.

"Well, it's not like you wouldn't have done the same thing," Hermione finally said, turning to look back at their boss, who was oddly enough smiling, rather tenderly too, if Hermione was to categorise it.

"Look at him! He's smiling!" She sounded so amazed at this revelation that Ron found himself grinning at the look of pure shock on her face before turning to watch the source of her astonishment.

"Well I'll be damned!" Ron exclaimed. His boss _was_ smiling, and not in his usual creepy, sinister way either, which was usually more of a smirk anyway. No, this was a full-blown smile, radiating happiness. "I wonder whom he's talking to," he wondered.

Hermione turned to look at her friend in amazement. "You don't recognise him?" she wondered incredulously. "Ron, that's Harry!" she explained at his shrug of indifference.

Ron's eyes bulged comically and he turned a nasty shade of red. "What the hell is Harry doing here?" he demanded, ready to storm the office any second now, heedless of his boss' earlier warning glare. Hermione sneaked a glance back at the unsuspecting couple in front of her before looking back at her friend. She wondered how someone so talented and logical could be so incredible dense at times.

"Isn't it obvious? Draco is the father of Harry's baby."

Hermione started the countdown patiently…3…2…1

"MALFOY! I AM GOING TO _KILL_ YOU!"

* * *

**_LUCIUS MALFOY..._**

There were several things to be said about Lucius Malfoy. He was a widely known man, and his cruelness and cold demeanour was something of a legend in the scene of politics. He was often described as one of Lucifer's fallen angels. He was a man thinking only about his own needs and survival. There were many words, which had been used to describe his "evil" personality. Cruel, uncaring, and devious were only some of them.

People said that the only thing Lucius Malfoy took pride in, was his destruction of others.

It was true, for the most part.

Once, long ago, his greatest pride and joy had been his son. His most beautiful creation. The day his son was born and he first held him in his arms was the first time in his life that Lucius could ever remember crying. He hadn't cried since then.

While most people would describe Lucius as almost divine in his power and success, Lucius would describe himself as tired.

That was what he was. A tired man.

Lucius Malfoy was exhausted.

Tired of constantly fighting to be the best.

Tired of scheming up new ways to outwit his opponents.

Tired of falling asleep each night, fearing that someone would claim his life while he was trapped helplessly in the realm of Morpheus.

He was tired of waking up everyday, only to feel grateful for his still contniued existence.

It was preposterous. Him, Lucius Malfoy, feeling gratitude. It was unbecoming of a Malfoy.

It made him tired, sleepy. Tired of living with such fears. Tired of living at all.

He hated it.

Hated feeling this way. He knew in his bones that it wouldn't change. No redemption of past sins could ever change the aching he felt now, the constant fatigue. Something needed to be done. He refused to be reduced to a man of an unstable state of mind. A man not in control of his actions.

He hated feeling so paranoid. Every sound he heard was another person out to get him, to capture him and lock him away for one of the many crimes he had committed in his years. Everywhere he went, he made sure to find all possible exits, to check every companion, friend or foe thoroughly, lest someone should turn on him.

It wouldn't do.

It simply wouldn't do.

He was a Malfoy, and as such he had an image to uphold, if only to himself. Lucius was the only one who knew of his paranoia. Of his Disease. And to him it was. A parasite that had dug itself deep into his brain, whispering, constantly whispering. Egging him on.

Well, the Fates could think again if they thought they could bring down The Lucius Malfoy. He would show them.

If anyone was to bring him down, he would do it himself. On his own terms and at his own pace.

He would do the only thing he could before he lost his mind entirely.

Taking his own life, as was his right.

And because he was a selfish bastard, he'd take down his useless wife with him.

After all, he was going crazy, not soft.

Besides, it would anger his son, Lucius thought gleefully. He knew his son had evidence against him, despite it not being strong enough to take him down. Yet.

It would make his son furious to learn that Lucius had cheated him out of taking him down. And that he had murdered his mother, too.

'Pfft. If anything, it should make my pitiful son stronger.' Lucius thought. From disaster, one must take with you the experience and rise from the ashes. Become stronger. Like a phoenix.

It would do his useless son good, he decided. His glazed eyes stared at the single picture on his desk from where he was seated in his study. His private investigator had given it to him just a few hours earlier.

At least that good for nothing son of his had done something right.

He stood from his office chair, and left the room, locking the door behind him.

On the desk, the picture of his son and pregnant lover was left behind.

If anything, it gave his tired mind slight solace to know that the Malfoy line would continue after his death.

It would have been a shame to waste hundreds and hundreds of years of history.

No, the Malfoy line would continue.

That was all that mattered.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Chapter Ten_**

The baby shower was in full swing and it looked as if everybody was having a good time. The room was filled with people, family and friends, talking amongst each other and having a great time. Even Petunia, Lily's older sister, was there with her husband and son. Harry didn't see the Dursley's very often as Petunia and Lily weren't on the best of terms, but it happened on occasion that the two would invite each other for certain events.

Though Lily insisted the Dursley's invitation was sent because it had been a while since she last saw her sister and it was her turn to do the inviting (Petunia sent an invitation to the wedding of her son a couple of years ago, though he was divorced again now), Harry suspected his mother was bragging about the fact that she was becoming a grandmother before her older sister, like Petunia had been bragging about the marriage of her son before it turned to shambles.

The only people who didn't look like they were enjoying themselves were a group of a few selected people. Harry couldn't bring himself to care about the man-huddle in the corner of the room, consisting of the men in his family, still not used to the idea of him having a baby or about Draco.

Instead, he smiled pleased with how the shower had turned out and gently rubbed his swollen belly. He was a little bigger than to be expected for his first pregnancy, but Dr Diggory had told them not to worry. There was nothing wrong with the baby. Their son was completely healthy.

Harry smiled at the thought. A son. He was having a son.

There would probably be nothing that could ever compare to the feeling of hearing his baby's heartbeat for the first time. Even so, finding out the sex of his baby came a close second, and both Harry and Draco had been filled with excitement when they found out.

Harry remembered seeing from the corner of his eye how Draco's face lit up at the prospect of finding out the baby's sex, though he had left the decision up to Harry.

Harry had reached out to take Draco's large hand in his. "Please tell us," he said, eyes large and shining with anticipation.

Cedric cast a quick glance to their joined hands before looking back at his charts. He looked up to smile at them, though his smile turned a little strained as he locked eyes with Malfoy. Cedric had come to know the man as an arrogant bastard, and he couldn't understand why sweet Harry could stand him at all.

"Congratulations Harry, Mr Malfoy, you're having a boy."

Harry had laughed in joy at the words and immediately turned to plant a sloppy, loud kiss on Draco's lips. They had eased into something resembling a relationship with rules of Harry's design dictating issues of intimacy, such as no kissing and no sex. Draco had screwed the rules from the beginning; the no sex rule the only one Harry managed to keep up. Harry was never the one to initiate the kissing or the touching, but as Draco started kissing back after having gotten over his slight shock, Harry conveniently forgot these rules until Cedric, none too subtly.

After their doctor's appointment they'd both been on cloud nine, a breathtaking high unlike anything they'd felt before. It was addicting.

Now they were at Harry's family home celebrating his pregnancy, some more so than others, he thought as he laughed merrily watching Draco sweet talk his father. Not an easy task at all with James growling menacingly, gritting his teeth painfully hard. At least Severus was there. Though Draco was at the moment further down on his Christmas list then even James, there was no doubt in Harry's mind that Severus loved his godson very much. Severus would make sure no serious harm would come to him. Though he might secretly think he deserved it.

Harry still found it incredibly amusing how Severus turned out to be Draco's godfather, and that both of his best friends worked for him. Hermione was even his personal assistant!

Draco, however, did not appreciate the humour of the situation at all. He couldn't believe how Harry hadn't been aware of him sooner. His best friends worked for him, and he was constantly in the papers and magazines. How could he not have noticed him?

"I don't really pay much attention to the news, and I tend to block out the noise when Hermione and Ron talk about work," Harry had said, looking at Draco with apologetic eyes. Faced head on with Harry's large, green, glistening eyes, Draco could do nothing but shake his head at Harry's cuteness. "You're adorable, Harry," he said simply, to which Harry had reacted with a predictable blush.

It _was_ odd now that he thought about it. How they hadn't met sooner after their initial meeting, what with all the people that knew both of them on some level or another.

"Oh, my sweet, darling Harry! How are you this fine day?" Seamus spoke loudly, throwing a friendly arm around Harry's shoulders. Harry blinked in surprise at the sudden presence of his friend before a smirk played around his lips mischievously.

"Why Seamus! I am just fine, thank you. Are you sure it is safe for you to be seen with me right now? After all, daddy just looked my way a few minutes ago," Harry let the sentence hang in the air and laughed in amusement as Seamus started looking around frantically. He'd managed to avoid James thus far and he was not about to be caught now. He shuddered at the thought of what the man would do to him if he got him in his clutches. The ensuing brawl the day James found out the identity of Harry's baby daddy, had become a bit of a legend amongst the friends and family of the Potter family. It had left an impression on poor Seamus' mind.

"You wouldn't really let your father hurt me, would you Harry? You love me, don't you?" Seamus asked desperately, turning hopeful, blue eyes on his friend. Harry laughed again, his hand rubbing his stomach comfortably.

"Sure, you're safe with me," Harry giggled, and Seamus breathed a sigh of relief. "At least until I get bored," Harry added teasingly, and Seamus looked at Harry with large, frightful eyes.

"That man has changed you, Harry!" he said playfully, raising his hands to his face in a dramatic motion, as if deeply shocked. Harry laughed warmly at Seamus' silliness, though couldn't help but silently agree. Draco had changed him in a way. These days Harry was feeling more alive then he'd ever felt before. It was exhilarating, and a big part of it was Draco's doing.

"Seamus, stop bothering Harry," Neville's voice carried over to them as they looked up to see him approach with Dean.

"Hey, guys!" Harry smiled at them while Seamus bristled at Neville's remark. "How are you feeling?" Dean questioned him as he sat down next to Harry and Seamus.

"I'm fine, the baby's fine, it's all good," Harry told him, smiling beautifully at the thought of his son.

"Do you know what you're having yet? I heard Blaise say there's a bet going around on the sex of the baby. By the way, I still can't believe you know Blaise," Dean told him, still slightly shocked after having met Blaise again, and through Harry of all people, too. Even more surprising was the fact that they had never had a sexual relationship. Blaise wasn't the type to befriend beautiful people for anything other than sex.

"Yeah, we found out about the baby's sex today!" Harry said excitedly. "We're not telling, though. We decided to keep it secret until the baby comes."

All three of his audience looked comically crushed at this news; no doubt all of them had money on the bet.

"Ah, shucks man," Neville grinned at him, not really that depressed by it. "I still can't believe your having a baby, though. To think if we hadn't taken you out on your birthday," Neville said, and Seamus and Dean nodded along.

"Mhmm, I remember when Luna called to tell about it," Seamus said as his eyes glazed over at the memory.

**FLASHBACK**

Dennis Creevey was not much to look at.

Never had been.

His face was one of those forgettable ones. Just another face in the crowd. A nobody.

Ever since he was a small boy he'd been short and skinny. There had always been a slightly delicate look to his appearance. Much like there was with so many carriers. This would have been all fine and dandy if it hadn't been for one little thing; Dennis Creevey was not a carrier. Which made looking the way he did suck. Big time.

Girls usually wanted nothing romantic to do with him; he was too pathetic looking, nothing like a big burly protector most wanted. And the big burly protectors would date him until they found out that he wasn't a carrier (if he couldn't give them a child, he was no longer worth being with). Then there were the carriers, who fell under the same category as the girls; he didn't look like the big burly protectors who could father them children, and so the cycle continued.

Dennis was pretty insecure about his own sexuality. He'd never gotten close enough to a man or a woman before to really know if he was a 100 percent gay or a 100 percent straight, so for now he'd settled for being bisexual. Or if he was going to be technical about it, he'd say he was a non-sexual. A 100 percent non-sexual, that is.

He was not an athletic person, nor was he particularly smart. There was nothing special about Dennis Creevey. He had no real skills or talent to speak of, and had generally been considered a looser all his life. There was perhaps only one good thing Dennis had going for him. He had an unnaturally long streak of good luck.

Which was why despite being only eighteen years old and a school dropout, alienated from his friends and family in England with no permanent job, Dennis was living the life of a rich man in the lovely city of Gorgonzola, a small town in Milan, Italy.

Or at least the life of a well off man.

Now, one might wonder how Dennis Creevey, a young man with no particular skills or talent to speak of, had so much money?

The answer; his unnaturally long streak of good luck.

After his parents died two years ago, Dennis had been sent to live with his grandparents in London. When he then later dropped out of school, his grandparents sent him to live with his older brother, Colin. As it turned out, Colin didn't really want anything to do with Dennis and kicked him out after he found his younger brother sneaking around in his studio. Colin was a photography major and had built his own studio in his apartment. When Dennis, out of curiosity found a way to enter the always locked door, took a look at the pictures inside the studio, he was more than a little disturbed.

Every wall inside the room was covered from ceiling to floor with pictures of a young man Dennis had never seen before. He was beautiful. So much so that Dennis could understand his older brother's desire to capture him within a , the sight before him was just unnatural. Everywhere he turned, glowing, green eyes stared back at him.

When his brother had found him in his studio, he'd been furious and immediately sent Dennis away. He'd told him to pack his bags and had been kind enough to give Dennis the little money he had carried on him at the moment.

Out in the streets with no place to go, Dennis had turned to one of his friends in desperation. His friend happened to be the younger brother of Marcus Flint, a highly dubious individual. As it was, Marcus was indeed dabbling on the wrong side of the law and was going to be part of a highly alternate operation in Italy. They were a party of three, and needed a forth one. The plan had been for Marcus' little brother to join them, but Dennis' friend was still in school and reluctant to join his brother in his illegal activities. In stead, the job went to Dennis.

The rest, as they say, was history.

Without a care in the world, Dennis made the twenty minutes trip from the city of Milan to his home in Gorgonzola. He'd been out partying as he did every night at one of the many nightclubs in Milan, as always dancing up a sweat on the crowded dance floors, having the time of his life. He'd long since ditched his three accomplices after the completion of the operation, preferring to live his life peacefully rather than that of a criminal, content with his share of the profit.

As he finally walked up the steps to his too-big-for-one-person house, Dennis immediately knew something was wrong. His front door was slightly ajar.

Dennis gulped nervously. There was no way he'd left the house earlier without locking the door. Someone had been inside, or was still there. Very slowly, Dennis made his way past the opened door and carefully closed it behind him, grabbing for the cleaning broom placed against the wall.

He swallowed painfully, clearing his dry throat as he entered the spacious living room. "Hello?" he questioned in English, forgetting for a moment that he was in Italy and his uninvited guest was most likely unable to understand him. His voice was barely a whisper, and Dennis was painfully aware of the tremble in his voice. He clutched the broom tighter in his hands and raised his wooden weapon up, ready to strike if necessary.

Suddenly the light was switched on and a chuckle met his ears.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk! You really think that broom will do any damage?" the voice spoke, and Dennis could hear the teasing in the stranger's voice. He glared at the man occupying his couch.

The man merely smirked back at him.

"Who are you?" Dennis demanded in his best manly voice, only to swivel around fearfully as another voice answered, "What? You mean you don't know?" the voice drawled out jovially, and Dennis had to raise his head to look up and lock eyes with merry blue. "And here we thought you were expecting us!" the man stated playfully, practically skipping over to the couch and promptly sat down in the first man's lap.

Dennis stared at them incredulously.

What the hell?

"Expecting you?" he questioned. "I don't even know you!" he exclaimed, exasperated. He jumped in surprise when a hand landed on his shoulder. "Oi! What's this? You don't know us? Well, we know everything there is to know about you," the third one spoke in a deep voice. "I"m hurt, really I am. How about you guys?" he wondered, looking over at his two companions.

"Yup! I most say I agree, Dean, love. Deeply hurt the lot of us are," the man with the blue eyes said, getting up from his place on the other man's lap and walked towards Dennis.

"Tell me, Dennis, have you ever heard of Death Eaters?"

Dennis turned cold. His heart stopped beating for a second and he struggled to breath in precious air.

He'd heard of the Death Eaters, all right.

Everybody on the wrong side of the law had heard of the Death Eaters.

The Dark Mark was an anti-criminal organisation hunting terrorists, thieves, murderers and so on. Anyone with a bounty really. The organisation had a selected group of particularly dangerous bounty hunters to their name. The hunters were known as Death Eaters, a name they'd picked up after a stint with the notorious Tom Riddle. Death Eaters was every criminal's worst nightmare.

Dennis first heard of them after his tryst with Marcus and his gang.

Death Eaters. Requirements; Intelligence, martial arts skills, knowledge of at least thirty-seven different ways to kill someone.

The Death Eaters originated from England, but were stationed all around the world. They weren't on the best of terms with the authorities, but they usually turned a blind eye towards the destruction left in the Death Eaters wake. As long as they got the job done. Dennis had hear several rumours regarding the Death Eaters such as how they picked their targets; either at a request from the government or from a wanted poster off a bulletin board. He'd heard they hunted with no rules and answered to no one. They hunted in groups or on their own and picked whatever bounty they pleased. Whatever struck their fancy.

It looked like Dennis had struck their fancy, and it terrified him.

"Ah, so you have heard of us," Dean said, his hand clutching Dennis shoulder painfully as he noticed the ashen look on the younger man's face.

"So tell us, Dennis. Did you really think you'd get away with it?" the man still seated on the couch asked leaning back against the cushions, hands folded behind his head and feet tucked up on the coffee table, conveniently placed in front of the couch.

Dennis swallowed hard; he had indeed thought he would get away with his crime. Everything had gone according to plan, and Dennis had been pleasantly surprised at how easy it had been. He had been sure there was no way they could have gotten caught.

Dennis knew if the Death Eaters were there for him now, Marcus and the others had already been caught. They were the only ones besides his friend back in England who knew he was in Italy.

"Well, bugger me silly! You really did think you'd get away with it!" the man standing in front of him cried out in fake surprise as he grinned menacingly. He turned to the man on the couch. "Looks to me as if this is the first time young Mr Creevey has committed a felony. What do you say Neville, should we inform him about the rules of crime and justice?" he wondered playfully, and the man on the couch, identified as Neville, nodded his head in agreement.

"Go ahead, Seamus. Have fun," Neville gave his consent and the man in front of Dennis, Seamus, grabbed Dennis' wrist, smiling crazily as he dragged the younger man with him towards the bedroom. "Come on, Dennis. Let's play a game!" he said, tugging on the wrist in his hand harshly. Dennis fought fruitlessly to get loose, tears streaming down his cheeks in fright as he begged the man to let him go. Seamus gleefully ignored him and was too strong for Dennis to fight off.

Dennis was pulled into the bedroom forcefully, sobbing in fright when the door closed loudly behind him and the other man cracked his knuckles before advancing on him.

Out in the living room, Neville and Dean were having a pleasant conversation, drinking tea while easily ignoring the screams pleading for forgiveness, and the ugly sound of flesh hitting flesh. Repeatedly.

Neville shook his head at a particularly loud cry. "Really," he spoke. "Raiding the secret vault of an Italian mafia family, one should at least have the brains to get the hell out of the country."

Dean nodded his head in agreement. "You'd think if they are smart enough to do the deed, they'd be smart enough to hide their tracks too," he told Neville. "Then again, they're criminals. Can't really expect too much of them," Dean continued merrily, and Neville laughed in agreement.

"I'll toast to that!" Neville answered. "To criminals everywhere. May they always be stupid and one step behind!"

"Hear, hear!" Dean said dramatically as they clinked their teacups together, unconcerned by the sudden silence coming from the bedroom.

"All done," Seamus announced, walking back into the room and up to the two of them. Neville and Dean shared a look before Neville spoke.

"You didn't do too much damage did you?" he wondered, really not that concerned about it. Seamus' handsome features adopted an innocent look of confusion as he pointed a single finger at himself.

"Who, moi? Do any damage? Me, who wouldn't hurt a fly! Really, Neville, you wound me! Such little faith in me!" Seamus answered, voice ridiculously loud as he flailed his arms about dramatically.

Dean rolled his brown eyes, annoyingly familiar with Seamus' antics. Neville just laughed at his friend and partner. "Well, I guess we're done here. Let's bring the loser to the authorities so we can get back home," Neville spoke with a sense of finality, leaving no room for argument.

Not that either of the other two would go against his words. Neville was the leader in their group. They'd decided so long ago. His word was law, though there had been times when both Dean and Seamus had broken it for the sake of an assignment.

Despite those rare occasions, all three of them knew it was necessary to have a leader in their little group. While hunting down criminals, many of whom were extremely dangerous, rules and procedures were a necessity.

Having delivered Creevey to the Italian police, the three bounty hunters were patiently waiting at the airport for their flight back to England. Well, Neville and Dean were waiting patiently; Seamus was pacing an open space behind them. He'd never liked waiting and would get restless with nothing to do.

Dean frowned as he read a text a friend just sent him on his mobile. 'Strange,' he thought to himself.

"What's wrong?" Neville questioned, noticing the frown on Dean's face. Dean turned to look at him and held up his phone.

"A friend just sent me a text. Apparently there's been some people looking for me back home," Dean said, perplexed by the information. Neville looked at his friend, confused.

"What do you mean looking for you? Like someone crushing _on_ you or someone wanting to _crush_ you?" he asked, not liking the possibilities of a message like that.

"I haven't done anything to upset anyone. I can't imagine it's someone wanting to 'crush' me as you so helpfully suggested. My friend says they weren't exactly friendly," Dean said, just as his phone vibrated, signalling another text message.

"Hold up, there's another text," he spoke, skimming through the message and suddenly his brows rose in surprise. Noticing this, Neville quickly spoke again. "What does it say?"

Dean turned wide eyes towards his friend. "They're not really looking for me. They're looking for Harry!" Dean cried out, shocked. Seamus, who'd joined them by now, immediately grabbed the phone.

"What are you talking about? Who's looking for Harry?" he demanded harshly while thoroughly reading the message. "Says here," Seamus began. "That two tugs came looking for Dean. They asked about a black haired, green eyed man from Fantasia, the 31 of July. Holy shit!" Seamus exclaimed. "That _is _Harry!"

"I remember," Neville spoke, hands curled into tight fists of worry. "We took him to Fantasia for his birthday and then he disappeared with that tall, blond guy," he recalled.

Dean nodded his head in agreement. "That guy was hot! And he was definitely hot for Harry."

The three of them shared a worried look, the silence between them thick and heavy. Seamus cleared his throat uncomfortably. "You don't think something bad happened? I mean if there are tugs looking for Harry, maybe that guy was dangerous!" he trailed of uncertainly.

"I don't like this!" Neville declared. "I'm calling him right now to see if he's all right." Just as he was about to dial the familiar number of his friend, Dean stopped him by grabbing his hand.

"Look," he said. "It would be suspicious to call him now just to ask if he's okay. It's more likely to scare him than anything else. Besides, it's nearly midnight," Dean said reasonably, and Neville sighed, knowing his friend was right.

"We're all worried about him, but I'm sure someone would have called if anything bad had happened, okay?" Seamus tried to console his friend, noticing Neville's fingers were twitching. Probably itching to dial up Harry's number.

Suddenly the sound of Pink's "So What" blared to life through Seamus phone, and he grinned as the refrain came up. He loved that song! It never failed to put him in a good mood.

Dean sighed irritably. "Would you stop grinning like a fool and answer your phone!"

Seamus threw him a dirty look before playfully sticking out his tongue at him. "Spoilsport," he grumbled, but grabbed his phone anyway. "Hello?" he spoke cheerfully into the speaker. "Eh? Luna? Is that you?" he questioned, and both Neville and Dean turned towards him interestedly.

They all knew Luna through Harry, but had never really had much to do with her. Frankly, the girl freaked them out with her weird behaviour. It was a bit of a mystery to several of Harry's friends how the two of them got along so well. Luna was about as far out there as you could get. Harry, on the other hand, was the classic boy next door.

"No way!" Seamus suddenly exclaimed loudly, disrupting the peaceful atmosphere around them. "You have got to be kidding me! There is absolutely no way!"

Dean and Neville looked at each other as if to say; "What's that about?" before shrugging their shoulders and turning back to Seamus, who's mouth was gaping in his surprise. They grinned at the silly look while listening to Seamus' part of the conversation.

"Ah ha, mhm hm, yes, okay. No, weather's good. A bit too warm. Yeah, talk to you later. Mhm hm, okay. Bye," Seamus spoke as he was about to end the conversation before his eyes widened in shock. "Eh? The hell? Luna, you still there? How the hell did you know we're in Italy? Luna? Luna?" he spoke loudly into the phone. He turned to his friends who were looking at him confusedly. "She hung up," he said simply, still reeling from the conversation.

"What the hell was that all about?" Dean demanded as his friend slumped down on the chair beside him.

Seamus turned baffled eyes to his friends. "She knows we're in Italy," he said, completely taken aback by this. None of their friends back home knew of their chosen profession, and they never let anyone know when they up and left the country. Harry and their other friends had learned not to worry about it and that asking questions was fruitless.

They'd get no answer.

Luna was different. If there was anyone who could figure out the mystery of what the three of them did for a living, Seamus suspected it would be Luna. If she didn't know all ready, that is.

"That girl scares me," Neville said bluntly. The other two nodded their agreement, shuddering at the thought of their loony friend. Neville wasn't sure he wanted to know how Luna could possibly have found out where they were. He wouldn't be entirely surprised if she always knew where they could be found.

"Oh, yeah!" Seamus suddenly said, sitting up straight in his chair. "You'll never guess what Luna just said!" he exclaimed gleefully.

"Well, since we're never gonna guess it anyway, why don't you just tell us," Dean told his friend, rolling his eyes at the ridiculous pout Seamus sported at Dean's lack of enthusiasm.

"Ah, Dean, you're no fun!" he spoke, poking his tongue at him, as was a common occurrence between the two of them.

"Anyway, listen to this," Seamus said excitedly as both Neville and Dean leaned in eagerly. "Harry Potter, _our_ Harry, is pregnant!" Seamus said, nearly squealing in his excitement.

This new information was met with silence before Dean fell out of his chair in shock. "No way! Harry is pregnant? Our Harry? Wow! Who's the father?" Dean enquired from his place on the ground while Neville nodded along, just as eager.

Seamus' eyes glinted with glee, grinning at them wildly. "That's just it. No one knows who the father is, not even Harry. Luna says it happened on his birthday, so I think it's that blond guy from Fantasia. I just didn't think Harry would have sex with him. Play around, for sure. But Harry having sex?" Seamus said thoughtfully. "Harry's just not the one-night stand type of guy..." he said, trailing off as a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"What's wrong?" Neville questioned his friend. Seamus looked at them with frightened eyes.

"I just thought of something," he whispered fearfully, hands reaching up to clutch at his hair, looking terrified.

"What? What is it?" Dean urged him, genuinely worried. Seamus looked about scared shitless.

"If Harry's pregnant, James can't be too happy, right? He's gonna be want to blame someone. There is no way he can stay mad at Harry for too long, which means..." Seamus trailed off again, thinking about Harry's father, James Potter. If there was ever a man that could honestly frighten the wits out of them, it was James Potter, Death Eaters or not.

The seasoned police man was a force to be reckoned with.

"We're the ones who took Harry out on his birthday, the night he got pregnant. Which means..." Neville continued, rightfully having adopted the same look as Seamus.

"Which means, we are the ones he'll blame, not to mention Harry's older brothers!" Dean was the one to finish. The three looked at each other, then gave a collective shudder of pure fright.

Suddenly coming home didn't look so good, anymore!

**END OF FLASHBACK**

The three of them still shuddered at the memory, looking around frantically to make sure James hadn't noticed them.

"What are you guys doing?" Harry questioned, tilting his head one side, not sure whether to be amused or worried by his friends sudden change of behaviour.

"Looking out for your father," Seamus answered very seriously. "He can be down right scary, you know!" he declared as Neville and Dean nodded fiercely in agreement.

Harry laughed, placing his hands comfortably over his stomach. "Oh, he's not that bad," he said, trying to calm them down. They turned to look at him incredulously.

"No offence, Harry. But seriously, have you met your father?" Dean questioned in disbelief as Harry laughed even harder. "Well, if your so worried about him, I suppose I should warn you that he's coming over right now," Harry said, gesturing to where James was indeed making a beeline for the space the four of them were occupying.

Neville, Dean and Seamus took one look at the angry expression on James' face and shouted their goodbyes, practically flying out of the room.

"Yeah, we're gonna go now, Harry!"

"See you later!"

"Bye, Harry!"

Harry smiled and waved goodbye while laughing in amusement as his father cursed. His three victims managing to escape him again.

As always, there was never a dull moment at the Potters' house.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Chapter Eleven_**

_22. December, Azkaban Island_

Once upon a time, a long time ago, forgotten from the memory of the human race, there had been an island. This island was beautiful and lush, placed just a few hours from the coast of Great Britain. During the 14th century the English had discovered the island and thinking it to be beautiful paradise, they had started a small settlement on an area near the beach.

Only the very rich got a chance to build estates and to enjoy the island's natural wildlife and resources. It did not take long until the island became known as Azkaban Island, a paradise on earth. The island remained as such until a hundred years later when the British started to keep slaves and prisoners, exiled from the lands of Great Britain, on the island. The rich soon left their lovely estates and travelled back to England and the authorities took it upon themselves to build a fort where they could contain the slaves and the prisoners.

The fort became known as Azkaban prison. No longer a paradise, but more like a hell on earth. At least it was considered as such by the prisoners, but often by the warden and the guards as well. In modern days Azkaban prison was renowned for its vicious conditions and dangerous prisoners. Nobody wanted to be locked up in the world famous fort, not even the worst of the worst, though they often were.

It happened on rare occasions that anyone placed into the maximum secured prison got out again, legally or otherwise. In fact, there had never been a known case of anyone escaping the fort or the island on their own. However, it did happen that a prisoner was released on parole for good behaviour or the likes.

Peter Pettigrew, a prisoner of the fort, had been given the coveted chance for early parole.

After 20 years, he was finally going to be free.

He looked at the officer in front of him, half listing to the rules and basis of his parole, his mind really elsewhere, on someone else…

"Do you understand, Mr Pettigrew?"

The voice drew Peter from long ago memories of eyes so very green…

Peter raised dull, watery blue eyes to meet the other man's. His dry, chewed up lips curled up in a snarling smile. "Yes, officer. I understand quite well. Very well, in fact."

The officer looked at the man in front of him dubiously. He knew of the man's history, what he had done to get his spot on the island, but it wasn't his decision who got to leave and who did not.

"Very well, Mr Pettigrew. You will be escorted of the island in the next boat. It leaves in two hours. Until then, you are to remain in this room and a guard will be with you at all times. Enjoy your freedom Mr Pettigrew," the officer spoke in a quick, cold tones, his voice underlined with threats and promises of what were to happen should the parolee ever find himself on the island again.

"Yes, sir," Peter murmured half-heartedly, his mind reeling with his newfound freedom. Whatever should he spend his free time doing now? He wondered to himself, his mind smirking cruelly, though his face was carefully schooled in a perfect mask of indifference.

'Whatever, indeed,' he pondered as lovely, green eyes flashed through his mind.

* * *

_23. December, Draco Malfoy's penthouse, London_

The sunlight streaming in through the window was framing his face gently, his hair spread out in a mass of silk black; a human halo to an earthbound angel.

Draco wrinkled his nose at the sentimental thought. He'd never been a romantic, but he let it slide as long as he could continue memorising the features of the one before him. He lifted and elegant hand to trace the figure sleeping so peacefully before him, mapping him out with adventurous fingers.

Draco smiled, white teeth gleaming as Harry moaned slightly at the feather light touch, both his hands travelling down to cover his ever growing stomach. Draco's smile widened as he too placed his hands on the bump containing his child, his son. He chuckled aloud when he felt a responding kick from the baby. He loved how he could be so free and happy when he was in the presence of his unborn son and his love and future wife, though Harry had yet to agree to marry him.

His grey eyes filled with love and joy, travelled to observe the sleeping Harry again. Christmas morning was only two days away now, and Harry had reached his fifth month of pregnancy, his stomach growing larger every day. They both loved it. Harry loved the feeling of being pregnant and having a child grow within him, while Draco loved the fact that it was his child. He didn't think there was anything more beautiful or sexier than having the person you love being pregnant with your child.

Draco would never admit it to anyone, not even Harry, but the thought of Harry being pregnant and bare feet did something to Draco's insides, and he constantly had to contain his strong urge of ravishing Harry. Harry's little rules were still in existence, though they were rarely practiced. It was more the no sex-rule that applied, but Draco had slowly been cracking Harry's defences for weeks now. Soon Harry would beg him to take him, and when he did…

Draco groaned at the thought.

"Draco?" Harry's soft voice cut through his fantasy and Draco snapped hungry, lustful eyes to the mother of his child. Harry was staring up at him, his eyes large and impossibly green. "Are you okay? It sounded like you were in pain," he continued, looking at Draco worriedly.

Draco smiled at him gently. "There's nothing wrong," he assured softly, head bending down towards Harry.

"Good morning, beautiful," he said and captured Harry's lower lips between his teeth, before pressing their mouths together in a gentle morning kiss that he'd come to love as much as the man he was kissing.

"Did you sleep well?" Draco questioned when he reluctantly pulled away from Harry.

Harry looked at him slightly dazed, before the question registered in his mind. "Yes," he smiled, turning his head as a heavy blush spread across his cheeks. Draco regarded him curiously.

Interesting.

"Did you dream?" he wondered, smirking knowingly.

"Mhmm," Harry hummed distractedly, trying to look everywhere else but Draco.

"What did you dream about, darling?" Draco inquired, pleased when Harry dared meet his eyes. The younger man opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it again. Another minute of this repeating had Draco pressing a little further.

"Harry? Was it a good dream? What did you dream about?" he wondered, pressing soft butterfly kisses across the Harry's pretty face.

Harry closed his eyes as he took a deep breath. Still incredibly shy and timid when it came to more…intimate matters, despite his pregnancy.

"I dreamt about you. And me. Together, I mean. Doing things. Good things. Things that Daddy would kill you for if we were to do them…" Harry whispered, his blush spreading across his body, and Draco knew if he lifted the sheet he would see the blush reaching past the swollen stomach, further south.

"First of all Harry, never under any circumstances mention your father in our bed again or any other bed for that matter," Draco declared rather haughtily, dodging Harry's playful swipe to his head with a playful smile.

"Second, why don't you tell me more about those…things…we were doing in your dream, so that we can do it here, right now," Draco whispered huskily, his voice dripping with desire and barely restrained passion.

Harry's eyes darkened to a lovely shade of forest green as he smiled a rather inviting come hither smile. Not even the seven hells and anything beyond could stop Draco from claiming his love's plump lips as he bent his head down, his blonde hair falling in his eyes. Their lips were millimetres apart and Draco could practically taste the other man already, his mind having branded the taste of him into his mind months ago.

Harry sighed happily and just as their lips touched in a firm, loving touch, there was a quick knock on the bedroom door.

"Mr Malfoy?" the voice of one of his maid called from behind the door. "You have visitors. They are waiting in the foyer. What do you want me to do?" the voice questioned, a tad hesitant of her employers mood.

Draco growled in annoyance. Dammit! He'd been so close to getting some!

A gentle hand rested against his stubbled cheek, and whirling grey met sparkling green eyes. "We'll continue this later, okay?" Harry said softly, but firmly. He wanted closer contact as well.

Draco sighed disappointedly.

"Lead them into the living room. Tell them we'll be along shortly. Thank you Ms Higgins," Draco spoke in clipped tones, his annoyance creeping into his voice.

The woman spoke a quick affirmative, before hastily disappearing to do her boss' bidding.

"Who do you think it could be?" Harry wondered as he stretched languidly, the muscles in his limbs protesting pleasantly against the light strain.

Draco pondered the question distractedly, more interested in watching Harry move ever so sinfully on the bed, no doubt unaware of how incredibly enticing he looked.

"I don't know," Draco finally responded. Gathering his senses, he moved regretfully away from his love and out of bed. "I have made no arrangements for today and it's rather early still. Besides it's Saturday. Whatever it is, it better be good," Draco growled out, displeased at having his pleasant morning with Harry disrupted.

Harry smiled gently at him, aware of his thoughts. He walked over to the taller man and pressed himself up against Draco's back, encircling his torso, mindful of his baby bump. Draco haltered in front of the floor length mirror, his arms falling from the buttons of his shirt to rest on Harry's smaller hands.

"Are you okay?" the smaller of the two questioned, pressing a sweet kiss to Draco's clothed back. Draco smiled at the gesture, hardly recognising his own joyful reflection in the mirror. It had been a long time since he'd been this happy, if he'd ever been this happy at all.

"Yes," he answered, turning around in Harry's embrace, pulling his own arms around the pregnant man. "Forgive my foul mood," Draco pleaded playfully as he bent down to nip at Harry's delectable neck. "I'm making a bid deal out of nothing. I'm just disappointed we were interrupted," Draco told him, letting his lips map a trail from Harry's neck to his jaw, before finally claiming his sweet lips.

It was always an experience for Harry, kissing Draco. No kiss was ever the same. Some were chaste and loving, others quick and pleasantly habitual. Then there were kisses so deep and possessive, fierce and burning that Harry thought he might have died and gone to heaven a hundred times over. Though many of the kisses had the same intention, they all made him feel weak in the knees, regardless of what type of kiss Draco chose to bestow upon him.

This was no exception, and as Draco finally pulled away from the tantalising kiss, Harry felt breathless and was swaying dangerously on his feet. He suspected if it wasn't for the fact that Draco was holding him so tightly, he would have crashed to the floor in an ungraceful heap.

Draco chuckled lightly at the dazed look on Harry's face. "Get dressed and meet me in the living room. I'll go greet our guests in the meantime," he spoke, bending down to give Harry one last kiss, barely managing to tear himself away before it grew to hot again.

'Oh God,' Harry thought to himself as he followed Draco with his eyes until the door closed behind him. He raised a shaking hand to his lips and chastised himself for still getting so worked up over Draco's kisses. Harry sighed, resigned to the fact that Draco was just able to affect him that way and it wasn't anything Harry could do about it. He groaned when he realised their little morning play had led him to quite an aroused state.

Harry let his left hand trail over his rounded stomach downwards to his erection and looked guiltily at the door when he closed his hand around his member. He had time for a little self loving, didn't he? He certainly hoped so. He was horny beyond belief and the hormones weren't doing anything to help. He closed his eyes as the delicious feeling of impending release washed over him, and he wondered, not for the first time, why the hell he'd created a no-sex rule.

As Harry came all over his hand, he rested heavily against the mirror, and panted with exertion.

"I'm officially revoking the no-sex rule," Harry murmured to himself as he cleaned himself up. There was no way he could go any longer without release, and he didn't care to masturbate when he had a perfectly capable, strong and sexy man willing to take him any way he'd like.

* * *

_22. December, Malfoy Manor, England_

Today was the day. He'd made all the arrangements. Everything was set up and would go according to plan. He'd make sure of that. He felt no remorse for what he was about to do. No sorrow, no grief, no guilt. He felt nothing, and for that he was glad. He'd rather feel nothing but the cold in his soul, then to constantly worry about if he could eat or drink without the risk of having been poisoned. Or if he would be shot down at some political function. No. To feel nothing was good.

It calmed his nerves and his mind. Much like the calm before the storm.

Lucius looked at the dangerous contraption before him with scathing eyes. To think a device so small could be so deviously destructive. His lips curled up in an ugly sneer. It was perfect for his plan, and would serve its purpose perfectly.

Sneer morphing into a mad grin, Lucius turned away from the device and closed and locked the door behind him. It was dinner time he noted as he checked his pocket watch. He stalked down one of the long corridor of Malfoy Manor towards the dining hall where he knew his useless wife was awaiting his arrival.

Unknown to all other occupants in the manor, the dangerous contraption was left to its own device. Glaring, red lights ticking away the hour. The countdown had begun, and in less than a full hour the powerful explosives of the bomb would go off. Malfoy Manor along with its inhabitants would simply cease to be.

Lucius thought nothing of it as he arrived in the dining hall. He cared not at all that he wouldn't only be taking his pathetic wife along with him to the grave, but all of his staff as well.

"Lucius," Narcissa spoke coldly as she spotted her husband. "There you are. It's not like you to be late," she continued with a slight tilt of her head, curious as to what could have caused her usually prompt husband his unnatural display of tardiness.

"Oh, come now Narcissa," Lucius spoke in false cheerfulness. "I'm less than two minutes late. I'm sure it wasn't too much of a bother," he said sweetly, and Narcissa refrained from commenting. Her husband was acting out of character and it was scaring her. He was a dangerous man with a lot of resources on his hands, and even if he was just two minutes late as he had pointed out to her, it was still the latest he'd ever been in all their years of marriage. Lucius was nothing if not proper and punctual. Anything less was unbecoming of a Malfoy. If there was something Lucius hated, it was being anything unbecoming a Malfoy.

Narcissa watched wearily as her husband sat down at the head of the table, realising that he was up to something.

"How was your day, dear?" she questioned, the endearment more like a curse than anything else.

Lucius turned steely, grey eyes on her and smiled. It was a real honest to God smile, and Narcissa swore she had never seen anything more terrifying in all her years.

"My day was fine, thank you," he spoke, amused at her reaction to his bizarre behaviour. "And you?" he inquired. "Tell me about your day."

Their meal was brought to them by their servants and Lucius and Narcissa continued their small talk, speaking more to each other than they had spoken in years. Narcissa would have thought it almost a pleasant setting if it hadn't been for that underlying fear that something horrifying was about to happen. She even told her husband that she had been Christmas shopping for her son's unborn child. She searched Lucius' expression carefully when she spoke of it. She knew that he had known about their son's baby for some weeks now, but she also knew he was unaware that she had the same information.

"So you do know about our grandchild," Lucius cut her of during her explanation of how she had mailed all the Christmas gifts to Draco's penthouse. "When did you find out?" he demanded, his tone no longer that of false warmth, but cold. Harsh.

"Unlike you, Lucius," Narcissa began, her voice smug. "I actually have a relationship with my son," she spoke, emphasising the my. "He called and told me himself."

Lucius eyes narrowed to near slits at her apparent smugness.

"He sounded very excited about it. Though, he told me to tell you that when you did learn about the baby, under no circumstance where you ever to come in contact with his son," she continued on, pleased that she had managed to upset her stoic husband.

Lucius was ready to tear into her and disrupt his wife's newfound arrogance and confidence, when something caught his attention.

"A son?" he wondered aloud. "He's having a boy?"

Narcissa looked at him oddly. "Yes," she affirmed a bit uncertainly. He would have found out eventually, she supposed, but still, there was something very unsettling about the look on her husband's aristocratic features.

Lucius ignored her questioning glance, mind lost in thought. His son was having a son on his own. The Malfoy line would truly be continued. Lucius had feared that the child would have turned out to be a no good girl like Narcissa. It might as well have been the end of the world as Malfoys tended to only have one child, and a girl was likely to take on the name of her husband. The Malfoy name would have been lost…

But now, knowing that his son's lover would bring the next true Malfoy heir into the world, it gave him slight comfort. For the first time that evening, Lucius felt something other than the bottomless nothingness he'd been feeling all day.

He felt proud of his son.

He felt just the slightest bit of regret as he realised he would not be there to welcome the newest addition of the Malfoy family into the world.

He wouldn't be there to make sure that his grandson didn't turn out to be someone unbecoming of the Malfoy name.

A look at his gold pocket watch let him know that it was too late to do anything about it now. Lucius Malfoy had made his bed, and apparently in a little more than a minute he would have to lie in it.

"Narcissa?" Lucius questioned quietly.

"Yes?" she answered, eyeing the man wearily.

"How do you feel about dying? Or death in general?" Lucius looked at her, his features adopting a rather nutty look in Narcissa's opinion.

She looked at Lucius, shocked at his question. He couldn't be thinking of killing her here could he? With all these witnesses around? 'Surely not,' she thought, desperately looking around the hall at all the servants stationed along the wall, looking as scared as she felt.

"Why do you ask?" Narcissa asked, and cursed herself inwardly when her voice shook far more than she intended.

Lucius' eyes glinted in the dimmed light.

"I'm curious," he drawled out, entertained by the entire situation.

"You're curious?" Narcissa bit out in disbelief. She shook her head madly, her normally controlled blonde hair falling out of its stylish hairdo. There was something going on. Lucius had something planned.

"Yes," Lucius affirmed. "I'm curious," he told her.

Then his grin widened as he looked at his pocket watch again. A watch he had gotten from Draco when he had earned his first million. Draco had been so sure that Lucius would be proud of him, and instead he'd gotten scathing remarks and a dig at his skills as an entrepreneur.

"Also in about fifteen-seconds, a bomb will go off."

Complete silence followed his statement, and several precious seconds ticked by.

Then Narcissa regained her wits and she stood hastily from her chair, knocking it over in the process.

"Run, you fools!" she screamed at the servants still too shocked to move. Suddenly the entire room burst into motion as they all tried to flee the manor at once.

It was a fruitless try, and Lucius Malfoy sat, content at the head of the table, a glass of expensive wine in his right hand as he watched the chaos before him with mild interest.

A second later the bomb ticked away its last number and Malfoy Manor was enveloped in a huge cloud of fire and smoke, visible from miles away, as the sound of a great explosion echoed through the nearby woods.

* * *

_23 December, Draco Malfoy's penthouse, London_

Draco grumbled to himself as he walked down the stairs towards the living room, still annoyed that his playtime with Harry had been disrupted.

He reached the room and was surprised to see his visitors.

"Krum," he grunted out dangerously, his grey eyes falling upon the other man. The man had better not be there for Harry.

"Draco," another voice cut in before Krum could speak, and Draco turned surprised at the use of his first name from one of Harry's brothers.

"Eric," Draco acknowledged, nodding at the oldest Potter twin. "What can I do for you gentlemen?" Draco questioned, weary as to what the two policemen were doing at his penthouse this early on a Saturday morning.

"Is Harry here?" Eric questioned the blond man unnecessarily, knowing very well that Harry had practically taken up permanent residence at the penthouse.

"Yes," Draco gritted out. "He'll be along shortly. He's getting dressed," he added, sending a glance towards Krum, taking a small pleasure in the clenched fists and jaw at his remark.

The next few minutes were spent in awkward silence, and Eric sighed with relief as he noticed Harry shuffling into the room, hands resting on top his baby bump as usual.

"Harry!" Eric called out to his baby brother, and smiled as Harry shot towards him. "Eric," the green eyed man grinned widely. "What are you doing here?" he wondered, hugging his brother tight.

Eric closed his eyes as he pulled his brother tighter towards him and sighed again, the sound reaching the other occupants of the room.

"Eric?" Harry questioned, stepping out of his older brother's embrace, unconsciously inching towards where Draco stood stiffly by the fireplace.

Eric shared a quick look with his partner before turning to the couple by the fireplace. "I'm afraid we are here on business," he began and Krum grunted his agreement.

"I'm sorry Draco," Eric spoke, sending Draco a look of regret, noticing the steely grey eyes, and clenched hands.

"A bomb went off inside Malfoy Manor last night. There were no survivors."

Harry gasped, horrified by the news and wound his arms tight around Draco's waist while Draco remained motionless.

"Neither of your parents made it out alive…" Eric trailed of as Draco suddenly started to laugh. There was no mirth in his voice, and Harry had never heard Draco so cold and harsh before.

"Of course they didn't make out alive. He would have made sure of that. That son of a bitch," Draco growled, pissed off by his father's daring action. He felt like hitting a wall as he realised exactly what this meant. His father had killed himself and taken his mother and all the others of Malfoy Manor along with him. His now dead father had just made sure that Draco would never get the chance to bring him down. The son of a bitch!

"What do you mean, he?" Krum demanded, immediately picking up on the strange comment and speaking for the first time since their arrival.

Draco turned towards the man, accepting Harry's embrace at the same time by pulling him closer, mindful of their unborn trapped between them.

"My father, of course. I'll bet you my entire fortune that he planted the bomb in the manor himself."

They all looked at Draco incredulously. "Why would your father want to kill himself? And all those people, too?" Eric questioned, unable to believe that the renowned Lucius Malfoy would take his own life.

Draco sent him scathing look. "Because Lucius Malfoy is a lying, cheating, murdering son of a bitch. Or at least he was until last night."

His remark took hours to explain, and Draco for the first time since he learned the truth about his father told the police what he had found out about Lucius Malfoy.

Hours later when they were finally released from the police station Eric and Krum had taken them to get Draco's statement, they were finally home again.

"Draco?" Harry spoke gently, watching the man pace back and forth from his position on the bed. "I don't know what to tell you," Harry confessed, and Draco stopped to look at him, drinking in the sight of his love, pregnant on his bed, like a starving man.

"They're dead, Harry," Draco spoke, and his voice was suspiciously hoarse.

"Yes," Harry agreed, green eyes growing dark at the hungry look in Draco's eyes.

"He killed her. He took her from me. She wasn't exactly the best mother material, but she did her best. She's the only mother I've ever known," Draco confessed, drawing closer to the bed, Harry's very being calling out to him like a siren.

"I know," Harry whispered as he pushed himself backwards on the bed, letting Draco crawl on top of him.

"I need you, Harry," Draco whispered to him, his eyes wet. The tears refused to fall, and Harry reached a hand up to stroke his cheek gently. "Draco," he started, but trailed of as Draco started sucking noisily on his sensitive neck.

"Please, Harry. I need you so bad it hurts right here," he told the smaller man, grabbing his hand and placing it above his beating heart. Their eyes met, and Harry's green orbs darkened even more if possible.

"Draco," Harry began desperately. "We shouldn't do this now. You're upset and angry and it wouldn't be right," Harry whispered against Draco's blond hair, as the man rested his head in the crook of Harry's neck.

"No," Draco pleaded. Actually pleaded with him. "This won't be a pity fuck. I don't need a pity fuck," Draco growled, suddenly angry at Harry's resistance.

"What I need is to be with the man I love," he confessed, his voice turning gentle as his words lit up a deep and primal fire in Harry. One he'd never felt before.

"I need to be with the mother of my child," Draco continued seductively, noticing Harry's resolve crumble a bit at his words.

"Need to be inside you. Need to love you. Need you," he breathed fiercely before claiming Harry's tempting lips in a bruising, possessive kiss.

"Draco," Harry moaned wantonly against the other man's lips, a blush spreading across his cheeks at Draco's words.

"I love you Harry. I love you more than anything in this world. Just let me love you," he mumbled against Harry's skin, hand resting between their bodies to caress Harry's clothed arousal.

"Will you let me do that, Harry?" Draco whispered.

"I love you," Harry confessed shakily, eyes boring into Draco's own. "I love you too," Draco whispered back as they continued to stare at each other. After a few seconds Harry seemed to find what he was looking for, and his lips pulled up in the most brilliant smile Draco had ever had the fortune of seeing.

"Make love to me, Draco," Harry requested, and Draco gave his own brilliant smile in answer.

"Today, tomorrow, and for the rest of our lives," he swore solemnly as he claimed Harry's lips with his own.

Their lovemaking continued throughout the night. Draco taking Harry again and again, unable to stay away from his little lover for too long.

They bonded through words and kisses and touch, and fell in love with each other all over again.

Though incredibly happy for the union of their boss and the lovely Mr Potter, none of the working staff of the Malfoy penthouse slept a wink that night.

In fact, Mr Potter's screams of pleasure kept them up well into the next morning. It was around seven am when the pleasured screams finally died down, and all staff members where content with the knowledge that at least for a few hours, there would be blessed silence.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Chapter Twelve_**

Just as time was hastily approaching midnight on the 31 of July 1988, Harry James Potter had come into the world. The birth had gone quickly and baby Harry took his first breath with a painful wheezing sound. His mouth was open in a scream, but no sound other than the wheezing of his breath was heard. It was very clear to all who looked at him, the tiny creature that he was, that something was very wrong. He was too small and too pale, almost blue in colour. Almost immediately, the child was put into an incubator to help him breath. His parents lived in constant fear of losing their youngest as several days of medical tests began. Finally, the doctors came to a conclusion.

It was discovered that little Harry suffered from the Prince syndrome, an exceedingly rare disease with only precious few recorded occurrences throughout history. It meant that most of his organs were underdeveloped and his immune system was nearly nonexistent. His parents and the rest of his family were forced to go through several years with an extremely sick child, always fearing that one day they'd lose their precious one.

Harry suffered through several close calls through his toddler years and into his years as a preadolescence. The situation with Riddle and Pettigrew especially, had effected his health. There was no known cure for the Prince syndrome as the Potter family discovered through err and trial. As a result, Harry grew up to be a very sheltered child.

Loved and overprotected.

He'd been told at the age of fourteen, during a routine check-up, that having children would probably not be a reality in his future. The doctors had told him that the strain on his body would be too great for him to handle, and had vehemently encouraged him not to have children. Harry had never told anyone how strongly his doctors had advised to stay as far away from a pregnancy as he could.

Oh, he'd told his family that there could be complications as there could in any pregnancy, but that a child could very well kill him, he'd never seen fit to divulge.

A few years later Harry hadn't suffered any of his previous pains and sickness, and his family and friends rejoiced in what appeared to be the disappearance of his illness. When Harry had learned of his pregnancy, never once had he thought that his body would have to pay in order to carry his child. He'd been so well for so long that he hardly thought about his illness anymore.

Why should he? It was not contagious, nor was it hereditary which meant that any child of his wouldn't get the disease. He felt good, hadn't been seriously ill for years now. Everything was going perfectly for Harry James Potter. He was having a much wanted baby, he was in love with the father of his child (he could finally admit that) and all was well in his world, until of course Draco had been told about his parents.

The following days after the news about his parents' death, Draco had started pulling away. He grew cold and distant to everyone, and only Harry could soften him up, though it was such a small change in his attitude that it was hardly worth mentioning. He had immediately arranged for a funeral and had locked himself in his office with Harry's older brother and his partner, Krum. He spoke to them not as family and friends of his beloved, but as the police. His father's suicide would not be enough to hinder Draco from revealing Lucius as the sadistic bastard he'd been. Draco's revelations turned into a huge investigation were several of Lucius' close acquaintances were suspected of several crimes such as murder and corruption.

The man threw himself into helping the police bringing down several high profile men while at the same time keeping his own sometimes shady dealings a close guarded secret, both from the police and Harry. It was during this time, about a month after the funeral, that Harry started thinking about his illness again. He was so surprised one day when he felt an ache start to develop in his lower abdomen. He didn't think much of it at the time, enjoying a late lunch with his best friends at their favourite restaurant.

He absently stroked the aching spot, a grimace of discomfort alerting his friends to his slight pain.

"You alright there, Harry?" Ron questioned, mouth filled to the brink with food.

Hermione threw him an annoyed glare.

"For God's sake Ronald, swallow before you speak!" she punctuated her words with the tapping of her manicured nails against the table, shifting her attention from Ron to the pregnant man across from her.

"You do look a little pale," she spoke, eyeing Harry critically. "Is the little brat bothering you?" she demanded haughtily, casting Harry's ever growing stomach a disdained glance. She had still not quite accepted that there would soon be another being in this world whom Harry would love more than her. As a lonely child from socialite parents, Hermione had clung to Harry like a leach ever since the two became friends, thinking of him very much like the little brother she never had.

"No," Harry said with a laugh, enjoying seeing his friend riled up with emotion. So different from the usual air of professional detachment she build firmly around her.

"I'm okay. It's just a little ache," Harry assured them, one hand still rubbing at his lower abdomen. Hermione looked at him a little doubtingly, but Ron accepted his answer and started a conversation about the new building he was working on.

The three friends continued their lunch, enjoying each other's company and the food as well. All the while, the ache never went away. Harry skilfully ignored it, having build up a rather large threshold for pain throughout his younger years when his illness had been at its worse.

It wasn't until he got home to his new place of residence that the pain started to flare up. They had moved from Draco's penthouse to his mansion after the Funeral. Harry entered the foyer of the mansion when suddenly he dropped his shopping bags to the floor in favour of cradling his stomach. He cried out as his knees grew weak, and he fell to the floor, the sudden blinding pain in his stomach all he could focus on. He didn't know how long he stayed like that on the floor, hands clutching desperately at his protruding stomach. It could have been seconds or minutes, but eventually his cries caught the attention of the staff, and a maid came hurrying into the room, gasping in horror as she took in the sight of her employer's boyfriend on the floor, moaning in pain.

"Master Harry!" she cried out, hurrying over to the fallen man and calling out for someone to summon an ambulance at the same time. Several others of the staff came running, wondering about the fuss and springing into action at the sight that greeted them. Meanwhile, Harry was oblivious to the happenings around him. All he could focus on was the excruciating pain and his unborn son. He didn't noticed when the paramedics came barging in, having been told exactly who their patient was. He didn't notice being lifted up and carried out into the ambulance. He didn't remember arriving at the hospital, several doctors and nurses bustling around him.

He absently noticed they were questioning him about himself and his pregnancy. They wanted to know how far along he was, had his pregnancy been difficult and so on.

They never got their answers as Harry's eyelids grew heavy and his mouth suddenly dried up. He was falling fast into the abyss of Morpheus' realm, and his last conscious thought was spent fearing for the life of his child.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Chapter Thirteen**_

"Draco?" A voice called out to him hesitantly. A presence hovered at the entrance of the master bedroom, worried green eyes moving from the hunched form of the man in question to the too still form of her son, lying on the large bed. The beeping sounds of the machines monitoring its patient's health a now familiar sight, and Lily sighed wearily as her call was left unanswered.

Taking a few more steps into the room she continued speaking, "Your son is crying. Maybe you should see to him…" she trailed of awkwardly, and suddenly the sound of a baby crying penetrated through the thick fog Draco found himself constantly surrounded by these days. He tore his gaze from the sight of his beloved, lying prone and pale on their bed, and blinked his eyes blearily up at the older woman.

"I can't leave him. I won't leave him alone here," he rasped out, noting how Lily seemed unable to look at Harry for too long at a time, as if the very sight of her son in his current condition was physically painful for her. Which it probably was, Draco thought absently, rubbing at the ache above his heart. A constant pain, unrelenting and unforgiving ever since Harry had ended in a coma.

"I'll stay with him," Lily started, but was cut short by the man before him. "I told you! I am not leaving him," Draco snapped angrily, a large hand reaching desperately for Harry's small, unmoving one. He clutched the delicate fingers in his grip and raised the knuckles to his lips, parting a loving kiss to each knuckle.

Lily shook her head even as she backed out of the room before she'd break down again. Ever since her youngest had been admitted to the hospital with severe abdominal pains and slipped into a coma four weeks ago, Draco had refused to leave his side except for bathroom breaks and an occasional shower. He had his meals sent to him where he guarded the sleeping form of the mother of his child, determined to be there when his lover awoke from his coma.

Every doctor who had even as much as suggested that Harry might not ever wake up again, had been fired before they could even finish their sentence. Draco refused to believe that his love would be asleep for the rest of his life.

Day out and day in, he stayed in the room with Harry. Moving for no one, not work or even his own child. His son, the child that had survived the birth unscathed. Harry had been unconscious when they had to perform a c-section to save both the baby and himself. It was a mighty shock to them all when a second child was born.

A girl.

She was removed from Harry's woomb, small and unmoving.

A stillborn.

She had been hidden behind their son, invisible on every ultrasound, and so in sync with the heartbeat of their little boy, that the doctors had been unable to detect another child. It was concluded that because his son had taken so much space, and because Harry's body wasn't meant for pregnancy (a huge shock to them all) the little girl had never really stood a chance.

It didn't matter, though. Draco knew that Harry would be devastated when he awoke only to learn of his dead daughter. He hadn't even gotten to see her, already claimed in his unnatural sleep.

When Draco arrived at the hospital after the news of the birth of his children, his top priority had been Harry. Because his lover was still in surgery after complications from the c-section, he was led to an empty, sterile room where they had placed his daughter.

Draco had stared at her unseeing. Unable to believe that the tiny form, too small for a healthy sized baby, was his little girl. His dead little girl. Arrangements for a funeral had been made before he ever laid eyes on his son. His unnamed, healthy son.

Draco knew it wasn't rational. Knew it wasn't fair to his son.

Still, he couldn't help but blame the child for the loss of his little girl, and even for Harry's current state. He was being childish in refusing to see the child, refusing to name him. Harry had always been so excited about the prospect of naming their child, and Draco wouldn't name the boy until Harry was there to do it with him.

Draco could her the sounds of Lily comforting the crying boy in the nursery down the hall. He sighed wearily, grey eyes locked on the beautiful features of his love.

"Wake up Harry. I can't do this without you. I can't be a dad if you're not there to be the mother," Draco confessed to the unmoving form like he did every night. As always, a small glimmer of hope expected to see glowing, green eyes looking back at him while simultaneously blocking out the sounds of his still crying son and the fruitless cooing of his mother in-law.

* * *

The life of Marissa Reeds had truly taken a turn for the worst after her stint as the Canine receptionist turned sour. Draco Malfoy had done his best to make sure to ruin her good name, and as a result no one would take her in. Her name and reputation were in ruins, and she didn't think she'd ever become a respectable member of society again.

Not even convenience stores would hire her these days, and she'd eventually been forced to turn to night clubs and strip joints, short of selling her body on the streets, for money. Every day she shook her arse and stripped off her clothing just to make a living.

She hated it.

Hated the men who stared and grabbed at her. Hated having to degrade herself like this, to use her looks for money. Most of all she hated the man responsible for her being in this horrid situation. Not Draco Malfoy, no. Marissa could never hate her true love. It was the pest that insisted on clinging to her former boss that she loathed. Detested the very idea of him. Harry Potter was the bane of her existence, and would forever be her hated rival. It had been a happy day when Marissa had read the news coverage of the tragedy befalling the Potters after the complications during the birth of the Malfoy heir.

Her joyous thoughts were almost enough to distract her from the task at hand, but Marissa still cringed in disgust as she gave the short, fat man in front of her a lap dance. His hands were pawing at her like a hungry dog, and she was three-seconds away from slapping him to hell and back when she suddenly recognised him. He'd been a regular at the joint for the last couple of months, and while Marissa had always thought she knew him from somewhere, he'd been an unappealing mystery she was little interested in solving.

Squinting her eyes while frowning at the ugly man, she suddenly recalled where she'd knew him from.

"Peter Pettigrew," she whispered in amazement and watched his beady little eyes glinting back at her, lips curled over crooked, yellow teeth.

"And who might you be?" Pettigrew wondered, hands fastening on her hips, effectively trapping her there unless she wanted to make a scene and possibly lose her job. The management in the joint was more than a bit shady, and didn't care much if the girls and boys were forced against their will, as long as they didn't lose their clientele.

Suddenly it occurred to her that she was scantily clad and in the lap of a nationally known criminal. She gulped and turned from the man's leering grin.

"Marissa," she breathed. "My name is Marissa." She was frantically trying to think of a way to escape when suddenly a thought occurred to her.

A very appealing thought.

Turning in his lap, she grinned at him filthily. "In fact," she spoke, leaning into Pettigrew seductively. "You and I have a common enemy. A pest, I suppose you could call it."

Peter looked at her curiously as Marissa ground her hips into his lap, chuckling lightly at his responding groan of appreciation.

"I believe the name Harry Potter means something to you?"


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I'd like to continue apologising for the shortness of the recent chapters, but I truly am struggling enormously with this fic. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it at least, and hopefully this chapter will sustain you for a while. I'd also like to thank you all so much for your invaluable support. You really have no idea what it means to me that you all seem to enjoy the story so much and continue to want more. I'm trying to work through my block, but it's a slow struggle, so I hope you'll continue being patient and just take the chapters as they come.**

_**Chapter Fourteen**_

Marissa was positively giddy with glee. Smoothing out her uniform, she found herself once more wondering how the hell Pettigrew had managed to get her this gig as a nurse. However, as she had learned over the course of the six days since she first met the man, she found it best not to question it too much. Pettigrew was dangerous, and the slightest things could set him off. It was better to just go with the flow of things, and take it at face value.

Barely able to contain herself, she took one last look in the mirror. Taking in her now short and bleached blonde hair, she hardly recognised herself, especially with the brown contacts covering her own blue eyes. Perfect.

Careful to school her features into professional politeness, she stepped out of the large bathroom she'd made her last minute preparations in, and headed towards the master bedroom of the Malfoy Mansion. "Excuse me, Mrs Potter," she called out in a fake, sweet voice. "I'm here for Mr Potter. His hair and nails needs to be taken care of," she explained.

Lily looked up at the sound of the other's voice, and took in the tall, pretty woman standing by the door. Looking back at her sleeping son she noticed his unkept hair and long nails, and realised that he did in fact need a trim. Letting go of the grip on Harry's hand, she stood from her chair.

"Yes, of course. I'll leave you to it. Draco is asleep in the guest room, but I imagine he'll be in here soon. He's never too long away from Harry," she finished sadly as she headed towards the door. "Take your time," she spoke, and then she was gone, presumably to comfort the crying baby Marissa could hear from down the hall.

She grinned at the thought of her Draco, but scowled at the implication that even in a coma, Harry Potter had such a strong pull over him.

Well, she would fix that.

Aware of the fact that she needed to be quick, she stalked over to the intravenous bag connected to Harry's frail hand, giving him fluids directly into his veins. Pulling a vial from the pocket of her white uniform, Marissa giggled at the blue drug it contained.

Horcrux.

A drug that would imitate death for three minutes and fifty-four seconds. Marissa had no idea where Pettigrew had gotten such a drug, but she didn't particularly care either. All that mattered was that the drug would make sure she'd be able to do what she had come for.

To kidnap Harry Potter.

Just thinking about it made her excited, and she pulled herself together as she replaced the IV-fluid with the Horcrux, watching like a hawk as the drug made its way into the sleeping man's system and immediately started to affect her 'patient.'

She could see his heart rate slowing down to dangerous levels on the monitor. She sent a quick text to Pettigrew, letting him know of the situation, before the loud, rapid beeping of the machine cued her in.

"Help! Someone help! He's not breathing!" her voice was high pitched and panicked. Perfect for the situation, and Marissa felt like clapping herself on the back for her dramatic performance.

Several servants came hurrying in, and after exchanging quick words with Marissa, Harry was quickly gathered in the arms of a tall man as a maid directed them towards the ambulance they had parked in the driveway of Malfoy Mansion for this very occasion.

Marissa kept quiet through most of it, but noticed how someone had shot towards the guest room were Draco was, and the nursery towards Mrs Potter. Marissa on the other hand made sure she was seated in the back of the ambulance as they took off in a hurry, pressing herself to the back of the vehicle as someone else fussed over what now appeared to be a dead man.

Looking down at her watch, she mentally joined in the digital countdown for when the drug would wear off and the Horcrux would cease to be in control of the still body.

3, 2, 1...and there. She watched as Harry took a deep breath even in his unconscious state, and grinned viciously at the relieved cheers from the driver and what she assumed was a paramedic.

If only they knew.

Grabbing a needle and another drug from her pocket, she quickly inserted the needle into the neck of the paramedic, and grinned in satisfaction as he fell down, out cold. The drug, named Hallow, was a much milder variation of Horcrux, and would only knock the man out long enough for her to get along with the plan. He'd be fine when he woke up.

Reaching for the last item in her pocket, Marissa couldn't believe her luck thus far. Everything was going according to plan. She took out a small gun and walked as quietly as she could over the passed out body, towards the driver. Pressing the barrel of the gun to the driver's neck, she whispered in his ear, "Take a left at the next turn, or I will blow your brains out!"

Her smile grew, as she saw him gulp in fear and look in the rear view mirror, seeing his friend out cold on the floor. "What are you doing?" he questioned fearfully. "You'll never get away with it."

She knew he was referring to Draco's rage when he found out, but Marissa was confident. Their plan was flawless.

"Don't you worry about that. Just do as I say, and you'll be fine," she promised. They were both quiet as the driver took the left turn she'd mentioned, and he looked at her from the corner of his eye as he questioned, "What now?"

Marissa didn't answer him for a while, her eyes searching for something while making sure the driver could feel the pressure of the gun on his neck. She didn't need him playing hero.

There!

She saw the blue, beat up Comet 260 she knew belonged to Pettigrew parked in an empty truck stop.

"Drive in here, to the truck stop," she demanded, nodding her head towards the stop in question, and the driver hastened to do as she said. Pulling to a slow stop and putting the car in park, he was about to ask what next when he suddenly took a blow to the head and fell unconscious across the wheel. "Thanks for the ride, darling," Marissa giggled as she hurriedly walked to the back of the ambulance opening the door to the sight of a grinning Peter Pettigrew.

He swept his gaze over the two unconscious men before finally settling on Harry, and his eyes glinted ferally.

"Excellent."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I have a couple of things to say this time, but first of all, I don't know why I haven't really noticed before, but there has been people reviewing and supporting me from day one. It literally made me cry, and you guys have no idea how much inspiration you give me or how thankful I am to all of you for sticking with me through every chapter, utter crap though it may be. I hope, like always, that this chapter will please you and that you will enjoy the read.**

**On to other things... **

**I got a review the other day about a question regarding what made it possible for Harry to become pregnant in the first place. I got confused, because I was pretty sure I had explained it before, but I went through the entire story not too long ago and made some changes here and there, and sure enough, removed some things in the process. The explanation about Carriers included. I will put it back at the end of chapter 1 for anyone who is curious about it.**

**Also, there is mention of Death Eaters in this chapter, and for those of you who recall Neville, Dean and Seamus' chosen profession will probably be slightly confused as I changed a few of the details surrounding them. In any case, I would recommend reading chapter 10 again for a further explanation. **

**On another note, I have no idea what to name the baby, so if anybody's got a suggestion I'd be more than happy to hear it!**

_**Chapter Fifteen **_

Colin was not pleased.

They had taken his angel from him. Snatched the beautiful creature that was Harry Potter from right under his nose.

Looking down at the photos in front of him furiously, eyes narrowed into angry slits, he growled aloud as he soaked up the image of that horrid witch and that awful man, manhandling his precious into a blue Comet 260.

She would pay. They both would.

Colin would rather die than let them get away with harming his Harry.

Colin recognised the situation for what it was. He would need help. Wasn't strong enough to save Harry on his own, as much as it pained him to admit it. He would have to sacrifice his own wants in order to save his destined love. Would have to collaborate with _him_, the enemy.

Draco Malfoy.

It was only after having retrieved Harry that Colin could eliminate his opponent and claim his angel for himself.

He was patient. Had already waited for so long, a little more wouldn't do any harm.

Closing his eyes, he could envision the first time he ever laid eyes on Harry Potter. They'd bumped into each other one day in one of the busy London streets. His Harry had looked at him, smiled, and apologised in that gentle voice of his.

Colin had looked at the glowing, green eyes, the beautiful features and the long, dark hair, and he knew.

It was love at first sight.

He had been following the other man ever since.

Had been waiting for years, patiently, until the day would come when Harry Potter would be his, and his alone.

Draco Malfoy and Harry's ensuing pregnancy had been an unforeseen complication, and now the kidnapping had truly put a wrench into his plans.

No matter. The end result was all that mattered.

Harry would inevitably be his.

* * *

Draco stared at his sleeping son.

He was beautiful and so very tiny. He looked like his mother with the same dark hair and delicate features, but behind his closed lids his eyes were the same as Draco's grey ones. It saddened him that he hadn't known how his own son had looked like before today. Hadn't held him, or comforted him like he did earlier when the screaming baby wouldn't quiet for his frantic grandmother.

Draco could hardly believe that he had been part in making such a perfect creature. Then again, Harry was about as perfect as anyone would ever get. It was to be expected that their son would be nothing short of amazing.

"I'm sorry little one. I've failed you haven't I?" Draco wondered aloud, reaching out a large hand to stroke a finger across his son's chubby cheek. The baby sighed slightly in his sleep, exhausted from his earlier tantrum and Draco found himself wondering if babies could dream, and if so, what did they dream of?

Taking one last look at his sleeping heir, he walked out of the nursery and headed towards his private office. Shaking his head, Draco couldn't help but compare himself to his dead bastard of a father. He'd been disappointed in his own son, blaming him for things out of his control.

He was just an innocent baby.

It had taken Harry being kidnapped for him to realise that his son was as much of a victim as Draco in all of this.

He cringed at the thought of Harry. When they got him back and after he had woken up, Harry would surely beat the crap out of Draco for having ignored their child for so long. He would not be pleased.

"He asleep already?" James' voice rang out the second he stepped into his study, referring to his grandson. Draco turned grey, tired eyes on him.

"Yes," he answered simply. "What do we know?" he demanded in return, taking in the others in the room. All the men in Harry's family, including his two godfathers and Severus were present, all as anxious as Draco himself.

Draco had been furious when he had been woken from a restless sleep to the panicked shouts of his staff and discovered his love had been kidnapped. From his own personal rooms.

Heads would roll.

"We've reviewed the security footage and interviewed all of the staff," Eric, the oldest of the Potter twins began. "From what we can gather, a woman posing as a nurse is the main perpetrator. We never see her face, she's looking away from the camera."

"She knew they were there?" Draco cut in. At the other man's nod, he swore. "An inside job then. There is no way without help that she would have known about the locations of those cameras," he concluded, and received nods of agreement. It was an uneasy thought, and made for an internal investigation.

Someone had betrayed him. Draco was enraged at the knowledge of it.

Eric continued, "As you know there are no cameras inside the master bedroom, so we can't know for sure, but she likely gave Harry something to make him go into cardiac arrest. A viable excuse to get him out of the Mansion and into the ambulance," he finished, his anger and frustration obvious in his voice.

"Most of the staff claim to have never seen her before, or didn't notice her at all during the chaos, but Lily talked to her," James admitted. He looked at Draco. "She doesn't recall anything beyond the woman being a blonde. And pretty."

Draco felt like screaming in his frustration. He wanted Harry back as soon as possible. Who knew what could happen in his unconscious state. He needed to be looked after.

"What about possible suspects?" Draco wondered aloud. "Was this a hit against me? Against Harry? Who would even hurt him?" he growled out angrily.

There was a look between the other men and Draco was quick to pick up on it. "What?" he questioned. "What do you know that I don't?"

James shifted uneasily, but it was Severus' drawling voice that answered. "Peter Pettigrew was recently released from Azkaban," he revealed, shooting James a glare as if the man was personally responsible.

Ignoring Severus' eyes on him, James turned to the livid blond in front of him. "He does have a motive," he agreed and launched into the tale of Harry's first kidnapping.

Draco was growing more and more furious as Harry's past was made known to him. "Why wasn't I told of this? Or Harry for that matter. He deserved to know, and I'm fairly certain he didn't," his grey eyes flashed. "I would have taken the necessary measures for protection."

The other men winced at his words, knowing that with the right kind of protection in place, the kidnapping could have been prevented.

Draco was about to lay into them some more, beyond infuriated, when suddenly his phone rang.

It was unnaturally silent in the room as Draco looked at his phone, knowing it could be the kidnapper. He didn't recognise the number, and briefly wondered how whoever it was had gotten his.

"Yes," he barked into the speaker, too frustrated and scared for his love to control himself.

Sirius and James shared a nervous look as they watched the young man. He hadn't said anything beyond his initial greeting. Was it the kidnapper?

As Draco swiftly put down his phone and stalked over to his computer, the other men looked at him in bewilderment.

"Draco?" Severus questioned. "Who was it?"

"Not the kidnapper," Draco bit out as he furiously pounded some keys on the keyboard and then suddenly swore heavily. "Son of a bitch!"

Turning the screen of his computer towards the other men in the room, they were greeted by the sight that had upset him so.

There across the screen was Peter Pettigrew, along with the blonde woman, lifting Harry into a blue Comet 260.

"Fuck!" James spat. He should have known it was that fucking rat.

"How did you even get this?" Remus demanded, looking at the image incredulous. He didn't like the way they were handling Harry. He didn't look too good.

"Never mind that, I will take care of it. What we need to worry about is finding this car. We know who took him, and it is likely that they have changed cars by now. Hopefully they haven't and we can track them," Draco spoke, authoritatively.

"And if they have we could find clues to their whereabouts in the car," Eric said, excited by the prospect of getting somewhere.

"Exactly," Draco grinned ferally.

The men started trickling out of the study, James and Eric in the lead. As policemen they knew exactly what needed to be done.

Only when Severus, the last one out the door with a narrowed glance over his shoulder back at Draco, left the room, did Draco pick up his phone.

"Avery," he spoke in clipped tones when the call was answered. "I need a few Death Eaters. The best there is. I got a job for you."

Turning his gaze back on the computer screen, his eyes took in another image, a single picture of the woman's face.

Marissa Reeds.

After her infamous shredding of the equal infamous letter from Harry, Draco had memorised her face in his desire to crush her. He'd recognise her anywhere. It didn't matter that she had slightly altered her appearance.

Heads would roll, indeed.

* * *

Dean was caught up in his work. The canvas in front of him was like that of his own imagined world. The brush in his steady hand adding the paint, transforming his bleak world into one of colour and life. He'd been going at it for hours. Been painting for days in preparation for his upcoming show, having been able to go back to his beloved art now that he and his mates were taking some time off from bounty hunting.

He was so transfixed by his own imagination as he painted, that he didn't notice the door to his flat opening and the arrival of his friends.

Neville had scolded him on several occasions for not paying more attention to the outward world when he got carried on in one of his painting urges. Dean couldn't help himself. His art was like being in a soundproof room. Everything fell away but the brush in his hand and the paint and canvas in front of him.

"Dean," Neville's deep voice cut through his self induced trance. "Get cleaned up. We have a job."

Dean reluctantly turned from his painting to look at his friend and field leader. He scowled. "The hell is your problem. We're off remember, and besides I got a show coming up. I don't have time to run after petty criminals right now," Dean told them, pissed that they'd even come to his place. They knew he didn't take jobs when he had upcoming shows. "Get someone else to do it and close the door on your way out," he finished, turning back to his paint and canvas.

"Dean."

It was Seamus that time. Something in his voice made Dean look at them more closely.

There was something wrong. Neville's hands were curled into tight fists, arms hanging stiffly by his side and Seamus' jaw was clenched, lips tightened into a firm line.

Dean knew them well enough to know that they were well and truly pissed off. Concerned, even.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

"It's Harry. He was kidnapped from the Malfoy Mansion earlier today."

Seamus hadn't even finished his sentence before Dean was up and heading towards his bedroom.

"I'll be ready in five."

* * *

**Drip. Drip.**

**Drip. Drip. Drip.**

Furrowing his brows in irritation, he lifted a heavy hand to wipe irritably at his forehead, frowning at the wetness he felt there. Letting his hand fall back down, he lay quietly for a while.

**Drip. Drip.**

"What?" he murmured groggily, trying to open his eyes as drops of water hit his forehead repeatedly.

**Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.**

His lids felt like they were glued together and Harry struggled to open them. For a minute he thought his eyes were still closed before he registered how he was surrounded by darkness.

He felt so tired. Why wouldn't his limbs move properly. It was as if all of him had shut down, and he was slowly rebooting his system.

"Where am I?" he questioned as if expecting an answer from the surrounding darkness, noting how his voice sounded raw and rusty, and Harry vaguely wondered what had happened to make it that way.

Finally gathering enough strength to place both of his hands on his stomach, he frowned worriedly at the flatness he found there. That wasn't right. He was supposed to be with child. Whimpering in pain as his mind raced through the last of what he could remember, he recalled falling to the floor in Malfoy Mansion in pain.

His baby!

Where was his baby?

Harry shot up despite his protesting body, only to groan in pain as his head collided firmly with something solid, hindering his attempt at sitting up properly.

More alert than before, Harry looked around himself confusedly as he cradled his sore head in his hands, his green eyes squinting through the dark before he screamed, terrified, when he realised he was trapped inside a casket.


	16. Chapter 16

**_Chapter Sixteen_**

"Please! Let me out of here!"

Harry's voice was a mere whisper. He'd screamed himself hoarse a while back. It could have been minutes or hours ago. Harry wasn't sure how much time had gone by since he'd woken up.

He had no way of telling time inside the casket.

"Please," he begged. "I just want to go home." Tears were running down his cheeks in two sets of streams. Rationally, Harry knew he should try to stay as calm as possible. Air would become a problem eventually, and the more he stressed the more of the precious oxygen inside the tiny casket would be wasted away.

He'd already deduced that the casket was only long enough for his outstretched body, and only centimetres with extra space above him and to his sides.

There was no opening, no exit.

He was trapped.

And so he had panicked.

His feet were sore and bruised from trying to kick the casket open, his hands much in the same state. There was even a few wooden splinters imbedded in his skin and his fingernails were torn and bleeding from where Harry had tried to scratch at the wood, desperate enough to try and claw his way out.

Harry would ever so often whimper at the pain, never before having felt so alone and miserable.

He was so very tired. And scared.

All he wanted to do was go back to the day he'd had lunch with Ron and Hermione, and wished for none of this to have happened. He didn't even know why he was there, wherever there was, or who had placed him there. Something must have gone terribly wrong after Harry had lost consciousness.

He missed his family. And Draco.

Oh, how he missed his lover. The man had been his undying love and support throughout Harry's pregnancy. Had been his rock, and Harry needed him now. Wished to be with him desperately.

Then there was the matter of his son.

Where was his baby? Was he safe? Was the child in Draco's care or had the same people who'd taken Harry, taken his baby?

So many different scenarios had been running through his head, and Harry had been exhausting himself with the different images he conjured in his weary mind.

There was only one thing he refused to think about as he lay there, scared, alone and trapped inside a casket.

The possibility of his baby being dead.

* * *

Neville sat hunched over the computer, rapidly punching in commands into the machine, waiting, impatiently for it to do as he pleased.

"Tell me why we're doing this again." Seamus demanded, pacing the floor in front of Neville.

"It's what we were told to do," Dean shrugged, unconcerned, leaning against the wall as he watched Neville perform his magic on the computer. Out of the three of them, Neville was the nerd. A computer wiz, and one of the best hackers out there. Over the years they'd learned there was very little Neville couldn't do with a computer.

Seamus was the weapon specialist. Always the first one into any kind of battle, be it close range or ghosting someone from a distance.

Dean, on the other hand, was a master of disguises. Fake passports, fake identities. Dean could get them inside any building, country, etc., with the right kind of tools.

They all had, of course, a range of other skills, dangerous and some not so dangerous. Together, they were some of the best Death Eaters in The Dark Mark.

"But doesn't in bother you?" Seamus continued. "Harry's been missing for hours already and we're not looking for him. I thought we were going to look for him!" he raged, his concern for their friend making him more irritable than usual.

"We are looking for Harry," Neville cut in, staring at the computer screen intently. "We are just taking a slightly different route. We need to exhaust all leads. You know this Seamus," he scolded slightly, briefly looking up from the screen to glance at his friend. "Besides, this is what Malfoy want's us doing. He's got a bunch of other people, including Mr P and Eric, checking out other leads."

"I know that!" Seamus grumbled, and Dean shook his head at the restless man. He looked ready to burst with barely suppressed emotion.

Taking in a big, calming breath, Seamus stopped his pacing and turned towards the others. "Fine," he started, calmly. "Tell me exactly what it is that we are doing."

Neville shared a secret glance with Dean before looking at Seamus with approval, pleased by his approach to their situation.

"We are searching for the computer the pictures of Harry and the kidnappers came from. We need to know if it's the kidnapper taunting us, or if it's a completely separate third party," Neville explained patiently.

Dean frowned in concentration. "I don't like the idea of it being a third party. It would imply someone watching Harry for a whole different reason. Why else would they be there and then send the pictures to Malfoy."

Seamus nodded at his words. "A third party could still be a threat. I mean, with Harry already kidnapped, I don't want to take any chances," he concluded, and Neville looked at him, one eyebrow raised mockingly.

"Oh, you have decided to see the value in finding this sucker?"

Seamus glared at him. "Shut up!" he mumbled to himself as Dean chuckled at them. "How long until you find the stupid source, anyway?"

Neville didn't answer for a while, pressing different keys at a rapid speed before finally leaning back in his seat, utterly pleased with his own performance.

"Done," he declared smugly.

Gathering around the screen, they looked at the information glaring back at them. "Creevey," Dean mumbled. "Why does that sound so familiar?" he wondered, racking his brain, trying to recall where he had heard the name before.

A profile image of Colin Creevey was enlarged across the screen. Information on his job, home address, phone numbers and family, listed for their convenience.

"There!" Neville said suddenly. "His brother, Dennis Creevey. Didn't we pick him up in Milan?"

Seamus nodded his agreement. "Yeah. I remember that fucker. A family of criminals, hm?" he pondered, eyes soaking up the image of Colin Creevey, burning the face into his memory. He wouldn't be getting away. Not if he had anything to do with Harry or the kidnappers.

"We don't know that he's actually a criminal," Dean cut in logically. The other two looked at the black man incredulously. "Excuse me?" Neville demanded. "You seriously think this little fucker has nothing to do with this?"

Dean shook his head. "I'm not saying he's not gonna be a problem or whatever. All I'm saying is we don't know how he fits in into all of this, and we need to keep a level head. If he's trouble we'll take him down," Dean spoke soothingly, watching his friends calm down slightly. "But we shouldn't just start beating the crap out of him for no apparent reason."

"Fine," Seamus groaned, annoyed. "I'll tone down the violence. Now can we get his address and get the fuck out of here?"

Neville nodded. "Let's go. It's not too far away."

Twenty minutes later, Dean barely repressed his need to throw up as he stared in horror at the sight before him. It had taken them about fifteen minutes getting to Creevey's place and another two breaking the door in when they realised no one was inside.

They'd made a quick search of the house, finding little of interest before Neville had stumbled upon a locked door, a gigantic padlock keeping anyone without a key from entering. Or anyone that wasn't a Death Eater.

Waiting patiently as Seamus struggled with the lock, doing his thing, Dean was utterly unprepared for what he was about to witness.

Giving a shout of triumph, Seamus winked up at his companions. "There's never been a door in which I've been unable to enter," he spoke as the heavy lock fell from the door. Twisting the handle and pushing at the door, Neville through a grin over his shoulder at Seamus. "Really? You haven't been in mine, yet." And though he spoke the truth, none of the three of them had ever indulged in each other in fear that it would muck up their work relationship, Neville realised it was inappropriate to have such a conversation at such a time. However, humour and flirting made them relax in the tense atmosphere, and they needed the escape in their profession.

Seamus sputtered at his words, about to reply when Dean, the first one to see inside the room tensed in shock. For some reason, whatever it was he had thought they would find, it hadn't been the sight before him.

"Oh my God," he whispered, swallowing continuously to keep from vomiting.

The three men stood in the doorway, gaping as their friend's eyes looked back at them. Harry Potter had been immortalised in what had to be hundreds upon hundreds of pictures, covering every surface of the four walls that made up the room with their images.

Some were large and some small, zoomed in to catch only parts of his face, or taken from afar. It was clear to them that the pictured stemmed from a period over several years. There were so many pictures. Pictures taken of Harry out with friends, alone one the street, and the ones that made Dean beyond furious. Those were the images of Harry inside his home. Sleeping in his room, showering in the bathroom, cooking in the kitchen. The man had been inside Harry's flat. Had violated his privacy and Harry didn't even know it.

Turning in a circle to look at all the pictures, Dean froze as he came at a stop at the entrance, the door having closed behind them, showed a life-size poster of Harry. Dean cringed as he recognised the clothing Harry wore, as well as the pose in which he'd been caught.

It was from Fantasia. The same night Harry had met Draco and gotten pregnant.

Dean could feel the fury build up inside him. That creep had been watching Harry then, and Dean, a fully trained Death Eater, had failed to notice. Sure he'd been aware of all the attention Harry had gotten, it happened everywhere they went, Harry was after all an extremely beautiful Carrier, but Dean should have noticed anyone taking pictures, so should the others.

He had failed his friend. They all had.

"Is that from Fantasia!" Dean heard Seamus breath behind him.

Dean swallowed. "Yeah."

They stood silent for a few seconds, just looking at the poster when Neville spoke. "I think it's safe to say that this asshole is going down. I don't want him anywhere near Harry!" he growled out, and Seamus and Dean nodded in agreement.

They were in the process of taking pictures of the room, treating it like a crime scene as they looked for anything that would benefit them when they heard the door to the house open and footsteps stepping into the foyer.

The three Death Eaters looked at each other, communicating through looks alone as they slowly turned to the door, exciting the room silently. It would seem as if the homeowner had returned and had discovered his unlocked front door.

"Hello? I've called the police! They'll be here any minute, now!" a male voice, shaky and trembling called out. The voice was obviously trying to scare away any would-be thieves by using the police as a threat, and Dean had to suppress a snort at the idea of the police taking the three of them down.

The three Death Eaters shared another look before stepping outside into the foyer where they were greeted by what appeared to be a quite terrified Colin Creevey.

'Good,' Dean thought to himself as Seamus, always the first one to start any confrontation, stepped up to the young man, towering over the cowering form. The other man _should_ be terrified.

Meanwhile, Colin's mind was racing.

The second he caught sight of the three intruders he could feel his breath coming out in pants and his skin start to sweat.

This wasn't supposed to happen. He recognised the three men in front of him, and knew exactly who they were. Colin wasn't ready for this. All his plan was going down the drain as he tried to think of an escape route. He needed to get out of there quick if he still wanted to get his revenge on Malfoy and Pettigrew, and if he wanted Harry. His lovely.

Cursing himself for even having come home, Colin felt like slapping himself as he realised he should have abandoned his house the minute he sent the pictures to Malfoy. He should have known the other man would have sources at his disposal to track him down, but Colin had needed some last materials from his room before he set his plan into motion.

He should have refrained from sending the pictures in the first place, Colin realised, but he had needed Malfoy to take down, or at the very least, distract Pettigrew while Colin went after Harry.

With the exception of Reeds and Pettigrew, Colin was the only person in the world who knew where Harry was.

He had been planning on using that information to his advantage, but by the looks of it...executing his well thought out plan would become a problem if he didn't get away from the Death Eaters in front of him.

"Colin Creevey?" Seamus questioned in a mockery of pleasantries, baring his teeth in a feral smile. Behind him, Dean and Neville were cracking their knuckles, looking every bit like the malicious and dangerous Death Eaters they were.

Colin, unable to do anything but gulp and nod his head in confirmation, hastily backed away from the advancing figures. His heart beat raced as his eyes shifted from one man to the other, mentally going through the layouts of the city, planning the best way to reach his safe house without getting caught. As the black man he knew to be named Dean, moved towards him, Colin didn't hesitate. Pivoting on the ball of his heel, he tore out of there as fast as his feet could carry him. Looking back once before he disappeared from view, Colin's eyes met Dean's.

Dean grinned.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Chapter Seventeen**_

Peter could hardly believe it.

His plan had been more successful than he had estimated, and the assistance of Marissa Reed had been much appreciated as well as needed. Including the girl into his scheme had been a move of pure genius on his part. However, now that she had served her purpose Peter had gotten rid of the silly girl. It was a shame, really. She was pretty enough, and had been a pleasurable fuck, especially for Peter who hadn't had a decent shag in years.

He scowled at the thought. His lack of a social life had been the Potter brat's fault. He was the reason for Peter's misery, but soon Peter would be free of him. Would be free of it all, and he would have his long desired peace.

Killing the girl had been easy. She had liked to think herself smarter than she was. Had thought herself sophisticated and knowing enough that she had imagined getting out of this little ploy alive and well, with Draco Malfoy as her well deserved prize. Peter was, of course, never going to let that happen. If there was one thing he had learnt in Azkaban it was to trust no one. Rely only on yourself. He knew the girl would undoubtedly try to screw him over, and had made sure to have several contingency plans at the ready to secure her fate.

Death at Peter Pettigrew's hand.

As it turned out, Plan A. had been all he'd needed.

In the end she really had been phenomenally stupid.

She had turned her back to him. Such a rookie mistake, to turn her back on a criminal partner she knew she couldn't trust, not really, at least she should have known. The bullet she had taken to the back of her head ended her life quickly. Peter reckoned he'd been kind to her. He could have dragged out her death. Made it painful and more enjoyable for him. But she _had_ been useful, and besides, he'd saved precious time on her quick disposal.

Pushing her dead body out his old Comet 260, Peter had left her at the side of the road, and regretted only the fact that he would be alone in the tedious task of the laborious work still to be done.

However, Peter had been patient for so, so long. Had waited for this moment for what seemed like forever. He was almost done, almost finished. Only this one thing left and then he could disappear. Forever. Would live out the rest of his life in some foreign, exotic land, fucking easy girls, whores, and breathe in fresh air. Unpolluted by the heavy chains of past sins and former regrets.

But first, first he had to finish this, and so he continued his task. Had been at it for hours.

Peter went through the motions diligently. A thrust of the spade into the mound of dirt, lift it over to the hole in the ground with the two caskets at its bottom, turn the spade and let the dirt fall on top of the lids of the caskets. Repeat the motion. Again. And again. And again. Uncaring of the cold weather. Of the rain beating down on him, on the caskets, in the hole, filling it with small pools of muddy water. On the mound beside him, making the dirt heavy, the toll on his body greater than what it should have been.

Peter was oblivious to it all. Uncaring of these small hinderances to his ultimate task, knowing only he had to complete his work no matter what. He had a job to do and nothing was going to stop him.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the hole started to fill, and Peter smiled. Appreciated the beauty of the place around him and how it made him seem perfectly harmless. Just a man doing his job. After all, who would question someone shovelling dirt into a hole at a cemetery? Godrick's Hollow Cemetery. The final resting place of the notorious Tom Riddle. And now, Peter had brought to him his beloved.

It had been a long time coming, and the unconscious, but very much alive young man in one of the caskets was finally where he belonged. Peter had taken great joy in digging the hole at this specific spot. Had removed spade after spade with earth and stone until finally, _finally_ he had reached his treasure. His spade had hit the lid of the casket containing the long ago buried body of Tom Riddle, of what was now his skeleton as Peter had discovered when he had removed the casket from the ground to make even more space in the hole. Had made a big enough space to fit another casket.

Peter knew Tom wouldn't have wanted any barrier between his chosen and himself, so Peter had dutifully removed the right side of his casket and reverently placed the skeleton it contained as far left as he could. He did this in order to ensure that when the side from the second casket, the one that would hold that thrice cursed boy, when the left side of _that_ casket fell away it wouldn't hurt Tom's remains, would remove any barriers between them and Tom would be reunited with the bane of his existence. Would be able to rest in peace after so long, and Peter would have fulfilled his purpose.

Would finally be free of the sins of his past. Of the betrayal he had never forgiven himself for.

When Peter had been captured by the coppers all those years ago he'd done the first thing to protect himself from a '_Dementor's Kiss._' The lethal drug, used only in Azkaban was carefully painted on the lips of the prisoners on death roll by what the orderlies called 'The Elder Wand_. _The Elder Wand_,_ just a simple brush, really, used to transfer the drug that would slowly kill the prisoner as it forced the organs to shut down, one by one until it was as if the very soul itself had left the body, and all that remained was an empty shell. Then, and only then, would the prisoner cease to breathe, and from one second to the next would leave this world so very unlike how most of them were born into it; quietly, undignified and alone.

It was a remarkably cruel way of executing prisoners, if not for the effect of the drug, then for the time it took until the process was over.

While no one knew if it was a painful process, or if the victims were even aware of what was happening to them, and it had been a long standing practice within the desolate walls of Azkaban, for Peter it was his worst nightmare. The thought of wasting away, alone and despondent, waiting for the inevitable... It was a fate worth fighting.

And fight it he had done.

When he had been caught by the police, when he had been forced to give up Riddle's location, the hiding place where he had whisked the infamous baby away, no one, not a single person had known the extent of his relationship with Tom Riddle.

Tom had discovered Peter when he was still a teen. Still in school with friends that were out of his league, that patronized him and tolerated him. Oh, how Peter had hated James and Sirius. Remus he could handle with his gentle nature and caring personality.

But the two boys, always so popular, always so smart, always so kind, and so very, very _generous_ as to let little Peter Pettigrew live vicariously through them. Allow him to get a taste of the sweet lives of James Potter and Sirius Black.

Allow Peter to cling on to the tails of their success.

Peter had more than hated them. Had despised them, resented their very being.

Even as a teenage father, James had had it all. Nothing could bring him down. Nothing could break the fierce force of nature that was James Potter. He had the beautiful wife, the girl Peter had crushed on before James ever decided Lily Evans was to be his. He had the perfect children and the riches to provide for them even without the success he was finding in the police force.

_Of course_ James did well in the force. Strong, honourable James. Always James.

And Peter?

What did Peter have?

Nothing! Absolutely _nothing_.

No job prospect to speak of, most likely due to his terrible grades. No dreams and no ambitions other than the knowledge that he wanted _more_. More of life, more of _everything_. He wanted what James had. What Sirius and Remus had. Meaning, success and money. And Riddle, well Riddle could get him that.

Riddle had promised Peter to bring him out of the shadows of his careless friends. All he had to do was to follow whatever commands Riddle gave him. And it worked. What Riddle told him was true. He took care of Peter. He cared for him, and it wasn't patronizing, it wasn't degrading.

It was _Tom_, and very quickly he was _Master_ Tom, the man that Peter would do anything for.

_Did_ do everything for.

If Tom wanted a person to perform his art, wanted a woman and a blonde, with blue eyes and with just the right height and just the right weight and just the right whatever... Peter would acquire this person for him. Peter would get what his Master wanted, and in return, in return his Master would reward him so handsomely, so generously, in a away that it had never been with James, or Sirius or Remus.

Because _this_ was Peter having done something to _deserve_ his rewards. To deserve his money. His success. And indeed he was successful, and somehow the morals fell away as time went by without Peter truly realizing it. Without Peter recognizing that what he was doing was wrong. Was illegal. That he was essentially an accessory to murder.

Pre-meditated murders of the worst kind.

Was the right hand of a serial killer.

All that mattered was the fame he enjoyed under his alias of Wormtail in the Black Market, revered there by his peers and feared by the public as every month, every _week_, a new story of The Body Artist would appear in the papers and Peter was a part of that. _Peter_ did that. He had that kind of power. To scare people, to terrify them. To choose who lives and dies.

And then one day, a week, a month, _years_ after it first started, Tom had wanted green eyes. And even though he had wanted a woman, had wanted someone in their twenties; Peter had been unable to resist. Had bragged about the greenest eyes he had every seen. Even greener than Lily Potter's, and Tom of course knew who she was, had seen her eyes, admitted in his reluctant aristocratic way that they were lovely, would perhaps had chosen her, only except... She was a redhead, and Tom couldn't stand red hair. Thought it ugly. Repulsive.

But Peter had been quick to assure him that _these_ green eyes were not accompanied by red hair, but black as the darkest night, with skin as pale as snow and lips red as roses.

His Master had looked at him then and spoken; "This person you speak of, I know them. I read of her as a child, was enchanted by her beauty, described so vividly and easily imagined. Her name," and here he paused dramatically, staring into Peter's eyes, piercing them with his own unique, superior reddish ones. "Her name was Snow White."

Peter had blushed then, his face flushing angrily as he recognized that he was being mocked, that he was being subtly humiliated by the one person who had become his salvation, his very reason for being.

"You will see!" he had declared firmly, shockingly so as Peter had never, _never_, spoken out against Tom, never contradicted him.

"This child that I speak of, he is exactly as I have described to you. He could, in fact, very well have been named Snow White. You'll see!" And with that Peter had left before his Master had been given the chance to reply to Peter's unusual outburst. Had left for the Potter house immediately, had been sure to bring his camera, and if silly, clumsy uncle Peter had been pointing his camera on the then one-year old Potter child, no one had noticed.

Not even the notoriously suspicious Severus Snape, a somewhat permanent fixture at the Potter Manor despite his ongoing rivalry with James.

And hadn't Snape always looked at Peter with disdain? Always looked down on him. Hadn't the man always prided himself on being cleverer than everybody else, that haughty despicable man? But now, now Peter was the clever one. The one who tricked them all. And as he showed the pictures he had taken of baby Harry to his Master he felt no guilt. No regret, and no shame. And oh! How pleased his Master had been with him! How very delighted Tom had been as he looked at the pictures of the little boy with the glowing, emerald green eyes!

"I want him Peter," he had whispered, stroking a finger lovingly over the face of the child, absolutely riveted by his visage and unable to tear his eyes away.

"You will bring him to me."

It was not a question and not a request. It was a mere statement of fact. Peter would bring the child to him. That was all.

Though his Master's reaction to the boy was different from any of that Peter had witnessed from him before, not even he had understood the fascination, the obsession that had aroused within Tom Riddle that night he first laid eyes on Harry Potter.

Tom Riddle was a murderer.

A taker of life.

However, for some reason that would remain untold for eternity, Tom had been unable to, or at least refrained from killing Harry when Peter handed the child over to him. Had in stead kept the child with him, worshipped him in a way which Peter would never understand.

It had been Tom Riddle's downfall.

Peter was sure that despite the police finding them just as his Master had started his work on the child, Harry was different, in every way.

Peter was positive that Tom never intended to actually kill the child, but to keep him always as his most prized possession. When Peter had been caught. When he had buckled under the pressure of the interrogation and the threat of the _Dementor's Kiss_, he had forcibly and unwillingly given up his Master's location. Had been quick to make up a story about owning some shark loans money, had devised a scenario where he first discovered Riddle in the Black Market, because the one thing that his Master had warned him about over the years was the very real threat of the_ Dementor's Kiss. _

A fate worse than any other.

And Peter knew, he _knew_ that they wouldn't hesitate to give him _the Kiss_ for his involvement with Tom Riddle; The body Artist, for his role in killing all those people.

For one second, a quick second that seemed like infinity, there had been a wild thought running through his mind; 'Oh my God, what have I done. Oh my God, what have I done?' before there was no more time to think. He needed an out and he needed it now.

So he had given the location, had betrayed his Master. It hadn't been too much of a stretch to make them believe that Peter Pettigrew, hopelessly dependent Peter Pettigrew had gotten himself into the kind of trouble where he needed fast cash, and desperate enough to take the easy way out. A low life, a rat like him, all too willing to steal his best friend's child, to sell a baby for the sum of money he so terribly needed.

They had all swallowed the story up. Had searched, helplessly, for a fictional loan shark, all too ready to believe that this was exactly the kind of person Peter Pettigrew was. The one who was always left behind, hidden in the shadows of others' success. The one who would never amount to anything.

The quick lie about gambling being the root of his problems, readily accepted by the police, by the public, and by his so-called friends. Peter had, upon learning of the bullet that killed Tom Riddle, devised the cover-story that would undoubtedly have him end up in Azkaban, but escape _the Kiss_. And escape it he had. Even Azkaban was behind him now.

He had endured his time. Had spent it thinking. Had planned for a way to repent his betrayal of his Master. His dear, dear Master. The one that had been his world and purpose.

Peter would give Tom what the man had wanted most when he was alive, and would ensure that in death, in death he would keep it.


	18. Chapter 18

**Warning: Violence**

**Chapter Eighteen**

Draco would be the first to admit he was panicking.

Harry had been missing for hours already, and they were steadily losing time. James and Eric's police resources had proved incredibly helpful, and they had gotten lucky in finding the blue Comet 260 quickly. And along with the vehicle; the body of Clarissa Reed. However, there had been no signs of Harry or Pettigrew, and their trail was running cold.

They had no clue where to search next.

Draco had faith his love was still alive. He had to be. There was simply no other option, and besides, Draco would have felt it had Harry ceased to exist from this world. He was _certain _Harry was still alive.

He stared at the dead body of his former employee dispassionately, noting the girl had been stupid enough to get her brains blown out. He tried telling himself that she had gotten what was coming for her. That karma had dealt its punishment in the name of justice. But a part of him, a big part, had hoped he would have found her alive. That part of him, so inherently dark and twisted, like his father's, had wanted to dole out his own justice. A more fitting punishment.

A simple shot to the back of her head would never be enough to appease the crimes of Marissa Reed.

"Shit," Draco growled low in his throat and kicked at the abandoned vehicle. "Where did they go? Where did he _take _him?"

James gave a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair in his frustration. They were taking too long. They would lose Harry at this rate. "Come on, guys, think. There must be something we are missing." He looked at the men around him, silently imploring them to somehow give him the answers he desperately needed to save his little boy.

"Let's go over what we know," Remus suggested, ever the voice of reason, though Draco could clearly see the taut worry lines around his eyes and the clenching of his jaw. The man was no less distressed than the others.

"Pettigrew is behind this," Sirius immediately spoke up. "And the girl has obviously served her purpose, so he disposed of her." He looked at the body of the woman, grimacing slightly at the large missing chunk of the back of her head. "As well as the car. So he must have had a second get away car at the ready."

Severus nodded his reluctant agreement to Sirius theory. "He could have had Reed kill Harry at the Manor, but chose to extract him from the premises instead. Obviously, Harry is worth more to him alive than dead. At least for now."

"But why?" Draco questioned, mulling over Severus' words. What had Pettigrew to gain from keeping Harry alive beyond his abduction?

"What if..." Sirius started, and to Draco's surprise he looked positively hesitant. In all the months he had known the other man, Draco had come to know Sirius Black as a very much all or nothing kind of guy. There was no in between. To seem him pause here, now, it was oddly unsettling.

"What?" James prodded his best friend, looking at him expectantly.

"What if when Harry was kidnapped that first time, what if it wasn't just a random agreement made in the black market? What if Pettigrew _knew _Riddle, was his aid? Sort of like his go-between from Riddle to his victims." Sirius looked at James pointedly, and James nodded along, seriously considering what it would mean if Sirius was right. Sirius had always been a bit paranoid, and quick to jump to conclusions. Not really all that odd, considering his family background.

"I remember there was some talk of that after you mentioned the possibility of that being the case the first time around. But no evidence of Riddle having an associate or accessory were ever found. You think they were in on it together from the start? That Pettigrew gathered the victims for Riddle?" James mused aloud, seeing where Sirius was going with this.

Sirius smiled grimly. "It would explain a lot now that I think back on Pettigrew's behaviour back then. And just think about it; if they were collaborating, we could assume that Pettigrew is still acting in Riddle's service, right? So where would Peter bring Harry?"

Draco sucked in a deep breath, cluing in to what the older man was implying. "Riddle's last resting place. His grave!" he breathed, excited at the prospect of locating Harry. "What are we waiting for then? Where is it? Where was Riddle buried?"

Eric shook his head. "Calm down, Malfoy. We don't even know for sure that this theory is right. Pettigrew could have taken Harry anywhere." He was loathe to do it; Eric wanted to find his baby brother as much as the others, but someone needed to play the Devil's advocate.

Draco growled. "Anywhere is just a tad difficult to locate," he said sarcastically. "But a known location is worth checking out!"

"I agree," James announced, sending his son a reproving look. "Anyone know where Riddle was buried? The location was never revealed to me. I heard his mother appealed to a judge and had the records sealed."

They looked at each other, growing steadily uneasy as they realised what the stifling silence meant. Draco paled. "No one knows where he's buried?"

"Son of a bitch!" Sirius exclaimed, his frustration obvious. "We need to find out which judge sealed those records and get the ruling overturned.

Eric frowned, noticing Severus' scepticism at Sirius' suggestion as well. "That's easier said than done, Sirius. Those records have been sealed for twenty years, and we would need a warrant to get access. And even then..." Eric trailed off, fidgeting slightly.

"And then...what?" Remus inquired.

Eric looked apologetically at his father and the man he knew would very soon become his brother in law, just as soon as they found Harry. "I got this weird report a couple of weeks ago. Someone had broken into the police archives and stolen some files. The circumstances were incredibly odd, and the investigation showed that only one file was taken."

"You think Pettigrew got to the records. Destroyed them before anyone would think to look for them." Draco closed his eyes, pained. That had been the only lead they had. Was Harry lost to him now? Would he ever see his beloved again?

James clamped a hand down on Draco'd broad shoulder. "We'll check the archives anyway. Screw the warrant."

Eric shook his head helplessly. "You need a customised key getting into that part of the archives. Only the Commissioner has got a key."

"If you don't think Commissioner Moody won't hand over that key, then you are sorely mistaken." James scowled at his son. "Sometimes loyalty means more then rules and regulations. You'd do well to remember that, son."

Eric flushed angrily at this. "Are you calling me a traitor?" he breathed out, staring furiously at his father. He made to take a step towards him when a warm hand clamped down on the scruff of his neck. "Let's just everybody calm down, hm. Deep breaths. We'll get nowhere fighting amongst each other," Remus said firmly, frowning at them all disappointedly. "James, why don't you call Moody. Take Sirius with you and head to the station. Keep us updated."

James nodded sharply. Too angry to speak as he spared his son a quick look before turning on his heels, grabbing hold of Sirius left arm as he stalked towards his car.

"We're waisting time!" Draco growled, looking at the men accusingly, before zeroing in on Eric. "Why don't you exhaust your own resources and do something productive instead of shooting down everyone else's idea!"

Draco narrowed his eyes at the older man, watching as Eric opened his mouth to respond, but never found out what he was going to say as Draco's mobile went off right at that moment.

He spared the device a quick glance, recognised the number, and answered the phone.

"Tell me you've got good news for me!"

* * *

Dean grimaced as he tore through the streets, his legs pumping powerfully to keep up his breakneck speed. _Deep breaths_, he reminded himself. Keeping his breath deep and even would let him run that much longer, and judging by the small figure in front of him, he would need to. Colin Creevey wasn't much to look at, but damn it all if the fucker couldn't run.

"Dean! Keep up, man. For fuck's sake!"

Dean scowled at Seamus, growling softly to himself as his friend advanced past him, Neville not far behind.

"Fuck you!" he spat out. Seamus _knew _Dean had spent _weeks _away from the job, focusing on his upcoming gallery show instead. A few days sans the excruciating training he usually put his body through was enough for his excellent stamina to deteriorate. _Shit, _but this was the last time he'd ever take so many days off to complete his paintings.

"Dean, he's headed into the alley...take a sharp left!" Neville called to him suddenly, and Dean veered left, twisting his body impossibly to avoid running straight into the wall appearing in front of him. He grinned as he realised Neville's plan. They were boxing Creevey in, coming at him from three different angles, and with a dead end straight ahead, Creevey had nowhere to run.

At least that had been their plan until the little _fucker _literally scaled the raised wall separating one alley from the next.

Dean grimaced again. Seamus was the only one coming from behind Creevey, and would be the only one of the three of them with proper speed and angle to make it over the wall as well. Neville and Dean on the other hand... They were coming in from Creevey's left and right respectively, and with the speed they were going...

...Crashed straight into each other, conveniently acting as a makeshift leverage for Seamus to jump across the wall and continue pursuit of their perpetrator.

"Son of a...!"

"Get off of me!"

"Watch where you're stepping!"

"Ow, damn it, what the hell, Neville?"

Extracting wayward limbs and finally getting to their feet, Dean and Neville took off again, exiting the alley and heading back into the streets.

It took longer than either of them would have guessed, but inevitably, Creevey's stamina ran out, and Seamus, the one of the three closest to him, caught up to him. When his partners eventually showed up, Seamus grinned that shit eating grin of his. The one hated by James Potter. And Dean, for once, could commiserate with his friend's father.

"Took you long enough," Seamus mocked. "Getting slow in your old age?"

"Shut up, Seamus," Neville snapped at him, walking up to the perp to make sure he was properly detained. "You're older than both of us."

Seamus pouted. "Only by a couple of days," he grumbled, letting Neville manhandle Creevey from his hold. The small man looked terrified, and with good reason if the look on Dean's face was anything to go by. The black man was nursing his right ankle, probably having damaged it in his crash with Neville, and he was uncharacteristically out of breath. He looked beyond pissed off.

"Are we doing this or not?" Dean cut in impatiently, looking pointedly at the growing crowd around them. "We're getting too much attention here. It's bad business."

Moving with grace and ease stemming from gruelling practices and years of experience, the Death Eaters disappeared into the crowd with their prey, already headed towards a secure location from which they would _extract _any and all information Colin Creevey had on Harry Potter and Peter Pettigrew.

Once they had their perpetrator away from prying eyes and chained stuck to a simple wooden chair, it didn't take long before the creep folded underneath the force of Dean's fury and violence. Usually Seamus was the one who tended to get physical during interrogations, but Dean was in a mood, and both Neville and Seamus decided to let their friend ride it out. And if Creevey got a little more roughed up than what they usually did to the criminals they caught, then, well, the man _had _violated Harry's privacy. Obviously, he deserved it.

"Tell me," **kick**, "What you," **punch**,"Know!" **punch**.

"Please! No more. I'll tell you everything! Just don't hurt me anymore."

Neville scoffed at the pathetic sight Creevey made. At least the stalker made for easy interrogation. "Dean, that's enough," he barked out when Dean looked ready to continue beating the bound man. Getting down on his hunches, Neville deliberately made himself smaller than Creevey, looking up at him calmly. It worked as Creevey visibly relaxed his tense body at the sight of a harmless looking Neville.

"Tell me, Colin. When did you first notice Pettigrew?"

The man blinked, wincing as it tugged at the swollen muscles surrounding his right eye. "Pettigrew? I don't know any Pettigrew."

**Slap.**

**"**Do not lie to us!" Dean roared as Creevey's face snapped to the side from the force of Dean's backhanded slap.

"Dean!" Neville growled, while Seamus quickly closed a hand around his enraged friend's bicep, tugging him away from Creevey's form.

"Collin," Neville spoke to the sobbing figure. "Do you see what happens when you lie to us?" he asked gently. "You get hurt."

"I'm not lying!" He sniffled. "I don't know any Pettigrew."

Neville sighed. "The man in the picture that you sent to Draco Malfoy. His name is Peter Pettigrew, and the woman is Marissa Reed. Now tell me, what do you know about him."

Creevey stiffened at the mention of Draco, and the Death Eaters could clearly see the anger evoked at the name of Harry's lover. Stubbornly, Creevey looked off to the side, his mouth a thin line as he refused to answers.

"You little bastard!" Dean shouted, struggling in Seamus' hold while Neville tsk-ed. "Now, now, Collin. You don't want anything to happen to Harry do you? If you refuse to play nice and cooperate, my colleagues and I are going to have to get creative. And trust me, Collin, when I say you don't want that."

Their captive fidgeted slightly in his seat. He was starting to cave, but still refused to speak.

Neville went for the kill.

Climbing to his full height, Neville bent down at the waist and placed his mouth next to Creevey's ear. "Just imagine, Collin. You could be Harry's hero. Imagine what he'll do when he finds out we saved him because of you. He'll be so grateful to you. So thankful. Imagine what that would be like, Collin, Harry admiring you like that. Worshipping you, even."

Collin groaned at the whispered words, and much to Neville's disgust, grew aroused at the images his words had brought forth. "He'll love me?" Collin asked eagerly, turning to look at them again. "He'll really worship me?"

"Of course," Seamus said easily, nails digging into Dean's skin to keep him from saying something in his disgust and anger that would ruin their progress and make Creevey clam up. "It's just like he said." Seamus nodded his head in Neville's direction. "Harry is a loyal and loving person. And you'll be his hero. How can he not worship you?"

Despite both eyes being nearly swollen shut, the excited gleam appearing in his eyes was clearly visible to the others. "That man in the photo, that is Pettigrew, right? He started showing up months ago. Always where Harry was. And always looking at him. Harry is _not _his to look at!" Collin said indignantly, and Neville had to restrain himself from pointing out that Harry was definitely not Creevey's to look at either.

"He was weird, though. Gave off this dark vibe." Collin shook his head, frowning as he thought about a specific memory. "I didn't like him, so I followed him a few times. Just to make sure he wasn't up to anything..."

Neville held his breath, sharing a discreet look with Dean and Seamus. This was it. He could feel it. Creevey would give them something worthwhile and they would find Harry.

Collin shrugged. "He ended up at the same place every time. Godrick's Hollow Cemetery. Visiting some guy who died twenty years ago."

Seamus gulped suddenly, paling as a thought occurred to him. No one knew the dangers of Harry's past better than Seamus. He'd lost count of all the times James Potter had taken him aside, describing Harry's kidnapping as a baby in order to try and temper Seamus' adventures with his youngest son. Seamus felt nauseas to remember how he had reacted back then, scoffing at the older man's concern. And then to learn that his concern had been perfectly valid. That Harry had been in real danger all along...

"Did you ever get to see the name of the tombstone? Think, Creevey! This is important."

Creevey was silent for a moment as he thought it over. Finally he said, "Yeah, I think so. It was Riddle. T. M. Riddle."

"Neville, call Draco. He needs to know where Tom Riddle is buried. It could be important."

* * *

Inside one of the many servant quarters of Draco Malfoy's Manor, a man was pacing the length of his room, nervously chewing on the skin around the nail of his right thumb.

"What have I done? What have I done?"

The man kept repeating the words to himself, looking worriedly at the door every time he heard a noise from the outside hall.

This was bad. He should never have helped that criminal. But his former master had instilled in him a great sense of honour, and Kreacher, the nervous man pacing the floor, was honour bound to act when Pettigrew had called in a debt owed to his own master from Kreacher's lord, Regulus Black.

Kreacher knew not the circumstances himself, but Regulus had told him very seriously before his death that if the debt he owed one Tom Riddle was ever called upon, Kreacher was to act as proxy in Regulus' absence. And Kreacher was a good servant. Loved his Master Regulus now as he had when he was still with him. Of course Kreacher would fulfil his lord's wishes. Kreacher hoped that with the disappearance of his unpaid debt, Regulus could rest easy in his afterlife. The gods alone knew what turbulence had plagued his life. He deserved some peace, if only in death.

Kreacher had practically been born into a life of servitude. Both his parents had served the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black all of their lives, as their parents had before them. There had never been a question of what Kreacher would do with his own life. He was expected to serve his family's family until there were no more Black's to serve, or he himself passed. After Regulus' death, the last of the Black's, Kreacher had seriously considered finding Sirius Black and serve him in Regulus' stead. But his master's older brother was disowned and had been stripped from the family fortune. Despite his name, Sirius Black was no longer actually a Black.

Kreacher had done the next best thing. He had applied for a position with Draco Malfoy.

Regulus had often before his death mentioned the young tycoon, praising him for his success and independence. Kreacher knew that deep down, even if he would never in his life admit to it, Regulus deeply admired the youngest Malfoy for breaking away from his oppressive father. He thought Regulus might hate Master Draco just a little bit, for the same reason. It was the exact opposite to how he felt for his older brother. Regulus only admired Sirius a tiny bit for escaping their family's rules and expectations, and he hated him plenty for abandoning him and leaving Regulus as their main focus. Hated Sirius for not rescuing him from their parents' harsh words and actions, though Sirius had never known Regulus wanted to be saved and Regulus too proud to ever tell him he needed saving.

It had fallen to Kreacher to protect his precious Regulus. But Kreacher had failed. Most of the time because Regulus himself refused whatever protection Kreacher could give him. In a desperate bid to please his parents, Regulus had become progressively more aggressive and dark, even going as far as to get mixed up with that dreaded Tom Riddle. Kreacher had done everything he could to assist his master whenever the stubborn young man allowed him, but still Kreacher's help was not enough and Regulus had gotten deeper involved with Tom Riddle and organised crime.

Then suddenly, one day, Regulus had come home in a hurry, flustered and panicked. He refused to tell Kreacher what was bothering him, but quickly packed a bag with only the essentials and headed for the door. He had stopped then, hesitating slightly before turning back to look at a distressed Kreacher.

"Kreacher. I...I want to thank you. For putting up with me, I mean. I really...I...I appreciate it."

"Master Regulus?"

Regulus had sighed regretfully as he looked at his faithful servant. "I won't be back Kreacher. I wish you could come with me...but...you'll be safer here." Kreacher could have sworn he had seen tears in his usually apathetic master, but they were gone as sudden as they had come, and he could do nothing more than let his own tears fall as he watched his master walk out of the house and out of his life.

When only two days later Kreacher heard the news of Regulus Black's death on the telly, he was saddened, but not surprised. And Kreacher, much like Peter Pettigrew, would remain as loyal to his master in death as he had been in life.

So then, when Peter Pettigrew had sought him out and called upon the debt owed to his master, Kreacher had reluctantly parted with the information Pettigrew had demanded of him: The location of all the Manor's cameras; the servants' time schedule; and his new master Draco's habits.

Kreacher hadn't known what the information would be used for. Had even refused to think about it. But this was not the case any longer. Now he knew. And no matter what he did, he couldn't take what he had done back. Wasn't sure he truly wanted to if it meant Master Regulus' debt was still owed.

But still, how horrid Kreacher had been! Oh, how wicked his deeds. The master's lover, Harry Potter had been taken from his bed and whisked away from the Manor. And all because of Kreacher. Bad, bad, bad Kreacher.

His thumb was bleeding into his mouth now, his teeth breaking skin in his worry. Kreacher hardly noticed. He had been ever so wicked, and when Master Draco found out...

They would kill him, surely. Draco was a Malfoy after all. He was well familiar with his kind of family's treatment of their servants. Kreacher would be shown no mercy. Of that he was certain. He hadn't in the Black Manor, and he wouldn't be shown any here. Only Master Regulus had ever cared for his well being. The little boy that Kreacher had spent all of his life caring for until his untimely death.

What should he do?

The debt had been payed and Kreacher owed Pettigrew no allegiance. He didn't have to protect him, and Kreacher's guilt was too great to keep his own involvement silent. He should reveal his wicked deeds to the proper authorities. They could keep him safe from Master Draco.

But no.

The littlest Potter's father and brother were police as well. Surely they would be equally furious if not as vindictive.

There was only one thing to be done.

Kreacher had to hand himself over to his master. It was the proper thing to do. Kreacher would just have to deal with the repercussions of his actions. He would not flee from them.

He could only hope that his master's lover was still alive. He didn't dare think what would happen to him if Harry Potter was dead.

* * *

Harry coughed painfully.

It was getting harder to breath by the minute, and every breath was pained.

He was so tired now. How long had he been here? Where was here again?

Oh. That's right. The casket.

He was trapped in a casket with no way out.

"No," he moaned weakly. There had to be a way out. Harry refused to die alone, trapped in a bloody casket. Besides, he needed to get to his son. His baby needed him! And Draco! And the rest of his family and friends. Harry Potter was not done. He had so much more he needed to do before he left this world, and by God, he would do it. He would!

"I will!" he croaked, swallowing painfully. "I need to get out. There has to be a way."

He had lost count of how many times he had pounded on the casket, hands and feet desperately searching for something, anything, to give away from the sealed wood. To reveal an escape route.

There had been nothing this far. But Harry couldn't give up. Not now, not ever. He searched one more time, fingers tentatively prodding at the wood to his left. He thought he'd felt it wobble somewhat before. With enough force he could probably knock it down. Slowly, ever so slowly, mindful of his weary body, Harry turned in the casket. Twisting his body so he was completely facing the left side of his wooden prison. Taking a few deep breaths, Harry carefully pressed both hands against the wood, and with his right leg, kicked against the casket with all his might.

It remained in place.

But Harry was not to be deterred. He had been positive that he'd felt the casket give away before, if only slightly. He steadfastly repeated the process. Again. And again. And again, and once more and there, finally! With one last push from his hands and a hard kick, the wooden side gave away and fell, creating an opening big enough for Harry to get through.

He had absolutely no idea where it would take him. Didn't know if it would serve as an escape route at all. But he had to try. He couldn't just lay there and wait to be saved. By then it could be too late, and while Harry had no doubt that Draco would find him eventually, he couldn't risk it being too late. He needed to get back to his loved ones.

Rolling over completely, so he stretched out on his stomach, Harry very carefully inched sideways, the darkness ensuring his blindness. When his right hand encountered a foreign object, he stopped. Harry gently put his hand on the unknown object and felt it out with his hand. It was hard and smooth, and though he could feel it was small and think, he couldn't tell what it was just by touch alone. Deciding to leave it be for now, Harry continued inching sideways, gradually moving away from his casket and into this new space.

A loud crunching noise had him frozen in place.

Blinking furiously, Harry desperately willed his eyes to see through the darkness, but it remained impossible to make sense of the blackness surrounding him. Again, he tried to use his hand to investigate. He quickly realised that there was more than just that first object beside him. There was something much larger, and fearing the worst, Harry let his hands feel out his suspicions.

When his hand glided through what had to be human hair to slide down and rest on what could only be _teeth_, he screamed.

It was a skeleton.

The body of a dead person was lying next to him, and had been dead long enough to have become a skeleton.

"Oh, God!" Harry breathed out fearfully, voice hoarse from abused vocal cords. "No, no, no, no, no." Unsettled by the revelation of the skeleton next to him, Harry grew frantic, and in his desperation to just get _away_, carelessly moved across the skeleton as far right as he could go. It wasn't very far. As soon as his stomach landed on top of the dead body, the bones digging painfully into his skin, Harry realised the skeleton was already placed as far right into the tiny space as it would go.

There was no escape this way, just an enlargement of his wooden cage.

Despondent and exhausted, Harry rolled away from the skeleton and onto his back, staring up at what he knew to be the ceiling of the caskets even if he couldn't see it through the darkness.

"Please! Whoever you are, just get me out of here! Why are you doing this?" he cried out helplessly, knowing that no one could hear him. He was trapped alone with a skeleton.

He blinked back tears as he realised the severity of his situation. He could feel his body growing progressively weaker. It had already suffered after the trauma of his pregnancy, and add to that his illness...

Even if they found him in that very moment, the presence of the skeleton next to him lead Harry to believe that he had been buried deep down into the earth. They wouldn't have time to dig him up before breathing became an even bigger problem than it already was.

"Please," he whimpered into the blackness. "I just want to go home."

There was no response to his desperate pleas.

And so he laid there in the darkness. Alone. Struggling to breathe.

The realisation that he was going to die had an oddly calming effect on him. He had lived a good life, and although he was by no means ready to depart from this world, he regretted nothing. He had been happy. He had been loved. Life, for Harry Potter, had been beautiful.

Harry closed his eyes.


End file.
